Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. The clanking of chains, the grating of locks, and the rumbling of bolts must have been music in Jonathan's ears, so much pains did he take to subject himself to such sounds. She was perhaps three-and-twenty, and very pink and healthy-looking, showing a great deal of white and rounded neck above her business-like but altogether feminine blouse, and a good deal of plump, gesticulating forearm out of her short sleeve. But it is all over now, and presently there will be some one else.
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