” She replied with a rehearsed answer, “I was told that my real mother died the day I was born. But the stone was slippery; and the tide, which here began to feel the influence of the fall, was running with frightful velocity. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. ” She stared before her, trying to keep back a rush of tears.
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