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Drummond smoked his cigarette meditatively. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. "I could almost find in my heart to quarrel with Jack Sheppard for occasioning you so much pain," observed little Winifred Wood, as, having completed her ministration to the best of her ability, she helped Thames on with his coat. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent.
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