"Ah! Walzes and polkas, you mean?" she says, in a puzzled tone.,
"Tell me about your mother," she says, folding her hands easily in her lap. "I mean,—what is she like? Is she cold, or proud, or stand-off?" There is keen anxiety in her tone.,
"O Death! thou strange, mysterious power, seen every day yet never understood but by the incommunicative dead, what art thou?".
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