She stole a few glances at John as she stood and played the pieces. "Have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son?" "God bless me!" ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eyes, "can—can it be?" "Surely," screamed Mrs. His face was downcast. And, with a glance of malignant exultation, he quitted the vault, and locked the door.
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