255 “You have a very talented son,” was her opening line. "Your sympathy is being wasted. “How do you feel?” she asked. As if he read her thought, he spoke it aloud. Bribble’s rendering of the service —he had the sort of voice that brings out things—and was still teeming with ideas about it when finally a wild outburst from the organ made it clear that, whatever snivelling there might be down in the chancel, that excellent wind instrument was, in its Mendelssohnian way, as glad as ever it could be. I ought never to have thought of it. " "And, if you want an additional inducement to do so, I can tell you there's no one —not even his mother—whom he loves so well as you. " "Ah! Sometimes I wonder I don't run amok and kill someone," said the Wastrel, in broken English.
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