I was always told my mother died the day I was born. She gloried in it: he needed her. “Mom, this is the girl I asked to Prom, Lucy. Years ago I marked out an intinerary for myself; but the trip never materialized. He noted an ebony cane laid close to hand, which suggested she was able to get about. But her husband, whose deportment to her was considerably changed since the fatal knot had been tied, paid no attention whatever to her grief.
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