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On a bed, white and beautifully clean, lay a fragile creature, terribly white herself, save where red live coals gleamed in her cheeks beneath the bright, blazing, fever-fire burning in her eyes above. She coughed and smiled and lay still, smiling. She smiled because a little one a tiny, sickly little girl had come up to the bed and patted her cheek and said: "Little mother little mother!"
"You have never evinced it before; why now?" "Because I have not thought of it sooner." "Will you unlock it, please?" she asked; and her eyes were very bright with the fever-fire that I knew was burning up, until I feared the flame would touch her mind. "I don't like being locked in; I wish to be free," she added. This lady has something of Mr. Axtell's command of manner.
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