He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. In the end he broke his own heart along with your mother's. At last I tried a dramatic agent, and got on the music hall stage. Once she heard him mutter, and she leaned down. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. I shall barely be in time for the theatre.
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