"Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room. But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad. They would arrive sometime in June. Dim possibilities that she would not seem to look at even to herself gesticulated in the twilight background of her mind.
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