I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. " "Wait a bit, massa," replied the grinning negro,—"lilly bit—see all right fust. "There's no outlet that way. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. Good-bye, aunt.
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