Utorak, Februar 01, 2011

hand over annette,

hand over annette, and parted her hair, mother will return soon. There was something so touching in the word mother, spoken while leaning over a sleeping babe. Clotilda reaches the door, having kept her eyes upon the child as she left her behind. A tremor comes over her,she reluctantly passes the threshold of the narrow arch but she breathes the fresh air of heaven,feels as if her life had been renewed. A mothers thoughts, a mothers anxieties, a mothers love, veil her countenance. She turns to take a last look as the cold door closes upon the dearest object of her life. How it grates upon its

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