The poor widow was thrown into an agony of distress on learning that a robbery had been committed, in which her son (for she could not doubt that Jack was one of the boys,) was implicated; nor was her anxiety alleviated by Mrs. She surveyed accommodation that seemed at first merely austere, and became more and more manifestly inadequate as the moments fled by. She was perfectly aware that the boy had gotten some sort of bug in his craw over her despite her sloppy, strange appearance. “Why will you not be sensible? Go back to your old life and your old friends, and forget all about Paris and this absurd delusion of yours. ” “No shit. I have always hated it. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. Her face scarcely reflected his enthusiasm. It was dry, as if she had powdered it.
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