They are their mother’s sons. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. “It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. Having watched the funeral at some distance, Jonathan fancied he could discern the figure of Jack; but not being quite sure, he entered the church. The light!—the light!" Astounded at his cries, Thames sprang towards him.
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