What are you to do with a mad mother at a time when you need all your wits to take care of yourself?" "Don't concern yourself further about me," returned Jack. Here again instinct guided her. The smile had become a laugh. They stood for a moment in the passage and listened. I do not choose the vicomte, for that would be foolish. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. His sister followed. And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me.
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