‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. Brendon told him the name of a distant restaurant and sprang in by her side. " "A bold resolution," said the woollen-draper. They are not your flowers. " "What for? What do you want of them?" "Why, they are … yours.
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