Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. “It’s—it’s a difficult question. He rose at once to his feet and turned a white face upon her. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. ‘Well, that depends. He stared at her stupidly, forgetting to guard against the tactics he had come to expect from her. "Now come along, Jack. She could hear the raucous laughter and bad music below. We’d soon cool that temper of yours.
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