She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. He had sold half a dozen short tales to thirdrate magazines; but this letter had been issued from a distinguished editorial room, of international reputation. She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. He sat down beside her and stroked her hair. “There is something to be said for the lady-like theory after all,” she admitted. My son went down after his death. ” “You’re lucky to live in an age when you can do so. " "Never fear," replied the lady. Indeed, if he had been ignorant of it, the sound of voices which he could faintly distinguish, would have served as a caution to him.
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