Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house. She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions. Her eyes where glassy and shining. At this juncture, a cry burst from the child, who, nearly smothered by the weight imposed upon him, only recovered the use of his lungs as Wood altered the position of the bundle. “What were you doing?” Her voice was a little hysterical. The girl was in the game now, and that narrowed the circle.
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