It had gone with the rest. "Mother, I come to you. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. The entire place was a masterpiece of wooden carving, a design of interleaving carried throughout. The individual twist was always there, even in the cleverest forgeries.
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