So absorbed was she by her passionate supplications that she was insensible to anything passing around her, until she felt a touch upon her shoulder, and heard a well-known voice breathe in her ear—"Mother!" She started at the sound as if an apparition had called her, screamed, and fell into her son's outstretched arms. ‘That way. Let us be friends—as near and close as friends can be. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky.
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