The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. Somehow. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. Her lips were dry and cracked. “How are you?” He asked, realizing she was unnerved by the very sound of his voice. "Where is it?" "Are you the mother of this child?" inquired the person who had first spoken, addressing Mrs.
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