58 \"Why will you not touch me?\" She cried out, sitting up, her head in her hands. White looked mysteriously about the room as though to be sure that no one was listening. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. He has nothing to fall back upon, no substitute; but a woman always has the mother love. Our land brings us in nothing. No man knew whence she had come nor why.
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