"Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. No offence, I hope. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. We’re hedged about with discretions— and all this furniture—and successes! We are successful at last! Successful! But the mountains, dear! We won’t forget the mountains, dear, ever. She hesitated. Can you kill yourself?” He asked quietly. "Come," said Wild, turning authoritatively to Jack,—"you have overstayed your time. That is why I would not marry this man whom I did and whom I do care for a little. She found him reclined, watching television in a small guest room hidden in a back wing of the massive house.
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