"My son! my dear, dear son!" returned Mrs. " "But wasn't I right? That pair?" "I'll take the boy; he'll be a novelty. But give me till to-morrow—only till to-morrow—I may be able to part with him then. She has even found them accommodation in the house where she is putting up herself. Those I don’t mind, though, the games. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form.
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