Part 7 That was two days before Christmas Eve. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out. Everything was very neat; it had evidently been straightened up and kept for her. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely. "Where?" "That can wait," she answered.
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