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CHAPTER XIII. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. This foster child’s name was Mary Lucia Iovelli, and we have photographic documents of a woman who looks exactly like you, dear.
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