His mom was a famous model. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. "Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. You've saved my life.
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