"Mother!" cried the son, "help!" "What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. Her heart's in the right place, at all events; and, since that's the case, the rest may perhaps come round, —that is, if she gets through her present illness. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. I needn't tell you to tread carefully.
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