"My mother!—my poor mother!" ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees, and bursting into tears. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. Gosse backed, not even attempting to parry so unorthodox a use of the foil. " "Never to return," remarked Jack, gloomily. Gerald at once rid himself of his own glass and leapt to her assistance. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense.
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