. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. . "My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. "Nobody has so much cause for complaint as me," growled Austin. ” He said. "Get a chair, Austin. But Jack was too well versed in the geography of the place to attempt either of them. Blank it was, except for a gate near the bridgehead. ‘Sapristi,’ he shouted angrily.
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