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In spite of her slenderness, it was a wide, mother-lap in which her hands rested, an obvious cradle for little children. And instinctively it would come to you as you looked at her, that there could be no more comfortable place for a tired man to come home to, than a household presided over by this slow-moving, gentle woman.
Ann opened her eyes and smiled up at him, weakly. "Make a light, father," she whispered, and with a fear-filled heart Truedale touched the electric button. The room was already filled with sunlight, for it faced the west; but for Ann it was cold and dark. Then, as if setting the last pitiful scene for her own departure, she turned to Lynda: "Make a mother-lap for Ann," she said.
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