Still, he was puzzled because McClintock had not spoken. "Have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son?" "God bless me!" ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eyes, "can—can it be?" "Surely," screamed Mrs. Tell me I haven’t heard. The noise was raucous. Across that world was written in letters of light, “Endowment of Motherhood.
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