“You will go and see her,” he begged. “Thank you, Martin,” she replied graciously. Yesterday!—who cared? To-morrow!—who knew? "Porpoise," she said, touching his hand. "What shall we do, Poll?" hesitated Edgeworth Bess. His mother smiled in return, an act that brightened her thin face. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice.
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