Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. “In two days,” she reflected, “Mrs. ” She eyed him scornfully. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory.
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