Across that world was written in letters of light, “Endowment of Motherhood. “Well, anyhow, consider it open. Lucy could see the resemblance of Martin to both of his parents as plain as day. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. They all balk because there aren't any petticoats. Rain changed to hail, then 154 sleet, then snow.
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