How Jack Sheppard attended his Mother's Funeral 435 XXVII. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. I don't care how lonesome it is. That window there…. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. I’d come back from the ends of the earth. .
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