" "What time is it?" inquired Jack. Even then she had understood vaguely that she had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was never lonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds. Wood in the deepest mourning. Her mind jumped with questions as fear raced through her and hardened into a bid for retaliation. At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. Besides, it did not fit her well, which was why the loose wimple had slipped. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears.
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