For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. It was my destiny to have her. This was good. Recurrently she heard: "I don't know; I really don't know. "Don't mention it," returned Wood, in the conciliatory tone of one who admits he has been in the wrong; "your explanation is perfectly satisfactory. It ran in rivulets down her face, penetrating her hood and the thick quilting of her coat.
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