“Is this hansom for me?” she said. She thought of the smiles she would gather when she brought forth his first grandson. She had eaten them, murdered them routinely, and yet he loved her still. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. Did he see him, this Monsieur Charvill?’ ‘I don’t rightly know, miss,’ confessed Kimble. "Do not endanger yourself on my account," rejoined his mother.
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