’ Dieu du ciel, but she was a fool. She went to her bedroom, but she did not go to bed. "Often. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. I wonder what it was. “You knew it,” he added, in her momentary silence. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "a letter, beginning 'dearest Aliva,'—that's your mother's name, Thames. 8 or 1.
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