F. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true. “Don’t be childish, Annabel.
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