John stared palely. “Ding-dong-Diedermayer is here, Lucy. Framed in one of the square ports of the packet was a face which reminded Ah Cum of a Japanese theatrical mask. Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred. She sensed that he was looking for her. But ere the words could find utterance, her maternal tenderness overcame her indignation; and, sinking upon her knees, she extended her arms over her child. There was no such a thing as perfection in a mixed world.
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