" "Let me go," implored Mrs. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. It occurred to her that it was absurd and wrong to be so continuously thinking of one engrossing topic, and she made a strenuous effort to force her mind to other questions. Some days, his eyes were green. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. " "You'd better take care of your mother's son instead," rejoined Blueskin.
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