" "I feel it," replied Jack, in a tone of agony, "and I feel it more on my poor mother's account than my own. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. The longing to talk to someone! But in the end she had gone to her room without giving in to the craving. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. ’ She halted, her pistol still held firm and straight, both hands gripping it, her expressive features at once determined and uncertain.
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