He had looked at it before without comprehension. “You poor little girl!” he cried. ‘Home?’ ‘To your family. “Do you remember the mountains? Do you remember how we loved one another? How intensely we loved one another! Do you remember the light on things and the glory of things? I’m greedy, I’m greedy! I want children like the mountains and life like the sky. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision.
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