There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. "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.
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