“Tiny golden rays filtered through the lacy leaves of the black walnut tree beyond her window. They pierced the room with shafts of magic, like fairy wands. Then she remembered it was the first of May—her birthday—and a little feeling of excitement curled in her breast. Twenty-four years ago today she had been born to the woman whose picture sat on her dresser beside the miniature of Uncle Edwin. The picture was really the only means she had of recalling her mother. She felt sad that she couldn’...t remember more, but she mustn’t get to feeling sorry for herself on this special day. After all, she had Uncle Edwin. She smiled fondly as she thought of him. To the world he was a foolish wastrel, but to her he would always maintain some trace of the hero who had rescued her from the parish home for foundlings after her mother died. She had been only four years old at the time, but the nightmare still came occasionally to darken her dreams. She remembered standing right there by the beadle and Miss Monroe in the office at the parish home while they discussed her fate as though she were a stick of wood with, no ears and no feelings.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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