"Have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son?" "God bless me!" ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eyes, "can—can it be?" "Surely," screamed Mrs. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. Just. In a few minutes, an appalling change was perceptible. She had not at first the power for concealment. Wood.
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