She remembered him as a dull figure, a big man with a belly that was already showing fat under his fine scarlet clothes. " Spurlock turned his dull eyes and tried to focus hers. “Oh my God, what if she’s dead?” More giggling. "Jack!" Her son averted his gaze. Perhaps he truly meant it – perhaps there was a force within him that could withstand the hardships of existing past a mortal lifetime. This was just what he needed. Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. "There is something in The Tale of Two Cities that is wonderful," she said. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping.
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