As to his mother, I've no pity for her. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. Unless it was a jewel or locket of some kind. Each morning his inquiry was properly answered: the patient was steadily improving, but none could say when he would be strong enough to proceed upon his journey. The well of tears in her eyes was dry. He can come round there. “Well,” she achieved at last. "Not proud in the least, I declare.
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