” She picked at her sandwich idly. She ducked behind a pile of unused drywall. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. From this night I shall pursue a different course; from this night his ruin may be dated.
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