"Mother!" cried the son, "help!" "What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. It was a simple wish. “I wish that I could forget it,” he said. There you will be, in an inner temple. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self.
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