It would be useless to tell her to go back, even heartless; and yet he could not advise her to go on, blindly, not knowing whether her aunt was dead or alive. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. Had he been listening inside? ‘What is amiss?’ ‘That Frenchie, sir. It was in fact the first embrace of motherhood she had ever known.
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