"My son! my dear, dear son!" returned Mrs. “I should love to come. ” “There is no one else who has a key to your rooms?” “No one except my maid, who is away in Wiltshire. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. What passed between them I cannot think—I dare not. And nowhere could I obtain the slightest information.
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