Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. 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. “Are you going on again this winter with that scientific work of yours? It’s an instance of heredity, I suppose. Wood had been my father, as well as yours. I can get into my clothes. You have darkened your eyebrows, you have even changed your style of dress. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. " "Here it is," replied Edgeworth Bess. " "But, mother, mayn't I sit up to see whether Thames returns?" implored Winifred. " "She? My God, the pity of it! She knows nothing of life. His eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy; he let out a sigh. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark.
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