In the midst of the holy place, which he had formerly profaned, lay the body of his unfortunate mother, and he could not help looking upon her untimely end as the retributive vengeance of Heaven for the crime he had committed. He would never be able to compose upon it, but it would serve to produce the finished work. Kimble was clearly a plain-spoken fellow. But this time she wanted nothing for herself: she wanted something for Hoddy—success. Wood fancied he recognised.
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