It did not take a mind reader to glean that she had suddenly gained the boy’s obsessive attention. “I see nothing of my sister,” she said. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. There had been fusses and scenes dimly apprehended through half-open doors. For a time she could scarcely believe he was gone. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care.
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