It ran in rivulets down her face, penetrating her hood and the thick quilting of her coat. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. She sighed with relief. “Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. They are mine! They were sent to ‘Alcide’ not to you. He looked at her with an expression of comical despair. It is we who have become the parasites and toys.
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