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The path he had selected conducted him to his mother's humble dwelling. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. The likeness was ridiculous. They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work. She seemed to grow more beautiful to him and not the opposite. "And now, farewell, Mr.
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