A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. ” Her father interrupted. That is why I called myself Anna. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. " With this, he struck the door a heavy blow.
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