Hence!" "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, in a voice, the tones of which were altered by his very anxiety to make them distinct, "listen to me. Then he opened the study door and called “Mollie!” and returned to assume an attitude of authority on the hearthrug, before the blue flames and orange glow of the gas fire. “It was very tiring. The one fault, indeed, of this school of fiction for him was that it had rather a light way with parental rights. Perhaps I'd better open it now. I am an independent sort of person,” she continued, “and I am engaged in an attempt to earn my own living. “It’s my fault.
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