Mrs. If Jack should die, all though her fault, she could never forgive herself. "Do you call neglecting your work, and singing flash songs nothing? Zounds! you incorrigible rascal, many a master would have taken you before a magistrate, and prayed for your solitary confinement in Bridewell for the least of these offences. Mother—dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again. He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. He wisely refrained from questioning the manager of the Victoria.
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