Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. “When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. Not then. There it was—to be borrowed. "Get a chair, Austin. Mirrors. But why this part of the plan now seemed to her quite unattractive was a question she did not care to examine too closely. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside.
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