Charity lay on the floor on a mattress, as her dead mother's body had lain. The room in which she lay was cold and dark and low-ceilinged, and even poorer and barer than the scene of Mary Hyatt's earthly pilgrimage. On the other side of the fireless stove Liff Hyatt's mother slept on a blanket, with two children -- her grandchildren, she said -- rolled up against her like sleeping puppies. They had their thin clothes spread over them, having given the only other blanket to their guest.
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Chapter 17
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