I was thinking of my mother.

Something about you reminds me of her.

I do not know what, unless it is that little mannerism you have of pursing up your lips when you hesitate or stop to think." "Tell me of her," said Betty, seeing his softened mood.
"My mother was very beautiful, and as good as she was lovely.

I never had a care until my father died.

Then she married again, and as I did not get on with my step-father I ran away from home.