His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. \" Lucy grinned, thinking of the dark gamey odors she had smelled emanating from a few of the less hygienic boys in school. Of course, it really signified nothing in this careless part of the world that she was travelling alone. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. ‘She knows them.
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