The gypsy sensed his admission of her charge.
She went on—Do you know who you are?
Do you know where you got your black hair?
He lifted his hand unsteadily in the direction of his head.
The old creature nodded and fixed him with her fierce eyes.
I am not your mother
Neither was the woman you called by that name.
The young man gasped.
His body grew tense.
He remembered his adored mother whose grave he visited every Sunday morning.