"She isn't there, little lady, and nobody's there--and you never see nothing, my sweet! How can poor Miss Jessel--when poor Miss Jessel's dead and buried? WE know, don't we, love?--and she appealed, blundering in, to the child. God would look down on him and on them and would love them all. Then, as if giving utterance to the process of his own thought, he said: --Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother's love is not. One does not seem to stand quite apart from another.
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