"A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice. He wasn't satisfied with an assured income from the paper-mills your grandfather left us. I have very few friends in Paris. He drifted in and out of consciousness. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos.
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