" "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. Her lips came together with an expression between contentment and the faintest shadow of a smile, her manner was one of quiet reserve, and behind this mask she was wildly discontented and eager for freedom and life. "And now, widow," he continued, "attend to the next verse, for it consarns a friend o' yours. She shut her lips hard, her jaw hardened, and she set herself to struggle with him. Last night there had been no time. Well, it's scarcely credible.
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