Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. Mr. ” “I am afraid I have not been very nice,” she said sadly. I have to see if you carry any more weapons. But how to avail himself of it was the question, for in his present garb he was sure to be recognised. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. She evolved a dim image of herself cooped up in a house under the benevolent shadow of Mr. Her mind left her.
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