I was always told my mother died the day I was born. A bowl of roses, just brought by Ann Veronica, adorned the communal dressing-table, and Ann Veronica was particularly trim in preparation for a call she was to make with her aunt later in the afternoon. Wood. And at length her penultimate day in Morningside Park dawned for her. I don’t care! I’m glad I did. Without the inclosure were reared several lofty gibbets, with their ghastly burthens.
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