"Mother—dear mother!" said Jack, bursting into tears. She had no idea what she should do. Answering him was agonizing. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. You can give up thinking and leave all the brain work to her.
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