The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. Just as the attendants were preparing to lower the corpse into the earth, Jack fell on his knees beside the coffin, uttering the wildest exclamations of grief, reproaching himself with the murder of his mother, and invoking the vengeance of Heaven on his own head. She flushed with desire and happiness, her husband had returned to her and all would be aright.
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