“My dad is into this stuff. He was holding the ring to the light, and narrowly examining the inscription. ” He was obviously puzzled. She heard their feet and muffled voices. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. At last she glanced at a little clock in the corner of the room, and sprang to her feet. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him.
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