"Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. Now she knew why the soldiers had not caught him.
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