A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. “So should you. " "Let me touch you, then; let me feel if you are really flesh and blood," cried the poor maniac, creeping towards him on all fours. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly.
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