“For your own sake, let me beg of you not to stay for a moment. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. You can tell me the rest another time. "Them's catchpoles, I s'pose, Sir, arter the gemman with a writ?" he observed. ‘What are you after this time, miss?’ asked Jack. He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room.
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