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Updated: June 5, 2025
Julia took her fostermother's hand in hers, and patted it; they were sitting side by side. The elder woman, whose face was still furrowed by the tears she had shed in her bereavement, began to tremble. 'Tell us, the girl said bravely. 'What is it? 'God help me, Mr. Fishwick answered, his face quivering. 'I don't know how I shall tell you. I don't indeed.
No one would profit by it, and now, shall I go on with the story?" They both acquiesced. There was something so pathetic in the fostermother's love for the child and her fear of its being cast on the world as no one seemed to know anything about the supposed mother.
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