Naomi Holland did not notice her. She was looking steadfastly at
the great, pearl-like sparkle in the faint-hued sky. When it
finally disappeared from her vision she struck her long, thin
hands together twice, and a terrible expression came over her
face for a moment. But, when she spoke, her voice was quite
calm.
"You can light the candle now, Eunice. Put it up on the shelf
here, where it won't shine in my eyes. And then sit down on the
foot of the bed where I can see you. I've got something to say
to you."
Eunice obeyed her noiselessly. As the pallid light shot up, it
revealed the child plainly. She was thin and ill-formed--one
shoulder being slightly higher than the other. She was dark,
like her mother, but her features were irregular, and her hair
fell in straggling, dim locks about her face. Her eyes were a
dark brown, and over one was the slanting red scar of a birth
mark.
Naomi Holland looked at her with the contempt she had never made
any pretense of concealing. The girl was bone of her bone and
flesh of her flesh, but she had never loved her; all the mother
love in her had been lavished on her son.
When Eunice had placed the candle on the shelf and drawn down the
ugly blue paper blinds, shutting out the strips of violet sky
where a score of glimmering points were now visible, she sat down
on the foot of the bed, facing her mother.
"The door is shut, is it, Eunice?"
Eunice nodded.
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