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If Jack Sheppard could behold his mother in this state, he'd have a lesson he'd never forget—ay, and a severer one than even the hangman could read him. It ought not to be much. She could smell the savory tinge of his sweat in the air. “Ungracious little beast, I call her. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all. ‘And I do understand. You know that I am practically destitute, without means or any certain knowledge of where my next meal is coming from. There are a thousand questions I'd like to ask you, but I sha'n't ask them. “And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 30-07-2024 17:51:42
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