She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. . ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. Right now my heart is occupied. The pistol fell to the floor. It was just as easy to pretend she was watching one when she was actually watching the other. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother.
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