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My mother said nothing, but took me up in her arms, and carried me back to bed, and then, sitting down beside me, and holding my hand in hers--there was not so very much difference in the size--began to sing in that low, caressing voice of hers that always made me feel, for the time being, that I wanted to be a good boy, a song she often used to sing to me, and that I have never heard any one else sing since, and should not care to.
~ Novel Notes
Poor little mother, she had a notion, founded evidently upon inborn belief rather than upon observation, that all children were angels.
~ Novel Notes
She said, 'I must be patient. I must put up with the mother God has sent me.'
~ Second Thoughts of an Idle Fellow