It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape. She turned to Martha as the lad exited by the back door, but her nurse forestalled anything she might have said. " "Dying!" echoed the knight.
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