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"My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. Lucy sat beside him. She was leaning over him and he smelled her like he had never smelled anyone before. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. "Come to me!" cried the poor maniac, who had crawled as far as the chain would permit her,—"come to me!" she cried, extending her thin arm towards him.
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