Nevertheless, she could not prevent a rising excitement as the dawn of the new life drew near to her—a thrilling of the nerves, a secret and delicious exaltation above the common circumstances of existence. The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. 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. “Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. "Who are the others?" "Let me see.
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