" "It is too late," returned Jack, sullenly; "I can't be honest if I would. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. “So you’re the one my son has been talking about. "Where can I hide myself?" he added, glancing round the room in search of a closet. Cursing himself for his inertness, Jack soon shook off this drowsiness, and set to work in earnest. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. “Yes,” he said, “I want to get away. .
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