When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. Clear water gave away to gray as she waded deeper, feeling her slippers on rock. Last night Mr. Wood, in indignant surprise. Any financial return was inconsiderable against the promise of this psychological treat. A thousand dollars is a lot of money for an author to earn. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. But they were old enough to start remembering you as mother, and we cannot have that.
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