"Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington. But I liked to say it. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. That is the dreadful truth. He looked about for his hat, and put it on. There was more to be told, and this was as good a time as any. ‘If Major Alderley should happen to call, you may admit him also.
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