"I have a token to deliver to you," continued the stranger, addressing her. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. The entrance of the house 85 was grand, and upon entering she was immediately greeted by John’s mother, a tall, thin woman quite a few years older than Cathy Beck. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding.
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