The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. She went to her room and changed the loose morning gown in which she had lunched for a dark walking dress. "Get ready the irons, Caliban. Brown. She was unusually soft and gentle in her manner to him.
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