The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. She had looked forward to an explanation. ” “Perhaps,” he said, “you had better let me have your key, and I will go up and explore. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. She tried to scream, \"I'm coming to you, Mama!\" But no sound would come from her mouth. . "It'll ease your mind. .
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