" "Curse you!" cried Jack, furiously,—"curse you!—curse you!" "Swear away, Captain," rejoined Blueskin, coolly. Her straight strawberry blonde hair was exactly Cathy’s. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. God had never answered any of her prayers. And that happens through our maternity; it’s our very importance that degrades us.
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