" "I'm not afraid, mother," said the little girl, smelling at the bouquet. I tried painting and couldn’t get on. It did not occur to her that save for some accidents of education and character they had souls like her own. I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it. She could not realize what she saw. Mother and Son.
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