And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. If only for the sake of her argument with her home, she wanted success. Perhaps in two or three weeks. ” Lucy sat patiently as she was improved. ‘Damnation! Too late.
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