The old lady’s face was stiff with anger. “You are not boring me,” she said, “but I would rather talk of something else. She is more dear to me than anything else. One of her duties, after she had been taught to read, had been to read aloud after breakfast and before going to bed. "You don't recollect me, I presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. ‘I don’t want no gold! Not for serving my mistress.
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