My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. She succumbed to cancer of the breast at age forty-three, it was slow and wasting. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. The way—the way we are led on! We are taught to believe we are free in the world, to think we are queens. CHAPTER II. What I do know I shall have no hesitation in telling anyone who has the right to ask. Sc.
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