We’ll make short work of them. The light of memory flashed in the man’s face. Her glasses moved quickly as her glance travelled from face to face. Through her door curtain she could see the light from the study lamp. Still, one never could tell. “You look more like your old self when you smile,” he remarked. But ere the words could find utterance, her maternal tenderness overcame her indignation; and, sinking upon her knees, she extended her arms over her child.
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