"Mother!" cried the son, "help!" "What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. She made lumpish and inadequate interruptions rather than replies. “What else was I to do?” For some seconds she stood watching him and both were thinking very quickly. Wood, and you'll find that I've spoken the truth. And then: “Of course! Always.
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