" "It is not Jack's voice," rejoined Mrs. Wood; "I'll not bear it. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. ” He shook his head. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. " "You believe it, father?" "From the bottom of my heart. She had found two copies of the magazine and carefully cut out both photos. His hat was placed upon one pole, his wig on another. 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. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. Sheppard, in a voice of agony.
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