She made a curious movement toward her niece, then suddenly, convulsively, she dabbed down something lumpy on the table and turned to follow her brother. She responded as he slipped his hands under her sweater. "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. “I wouldn’t have been without this trip for worlds. That shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire. She was unusually helpful at breakfast, and unselfish about the eggs: and then she went off to catch the train before her father’s. And she—’ ‘She!’ interrupted the young lady crossly. She thought me— filthy.
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