But there's a person in the hall—a very odd sort of man—waiting to see him, who won't be sent away. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her. It is that you cannot refuse her sanctuary. 1. ‘That is my mother. .
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