" Still his brain refused to assimilate the news or to deduce the tremendous importance of it. She paused for a moment. The freezing water lapped around her ankles as she ran along its edge, marveling at the thousands of tiny white spiral shells the tide had brought in. When they were going home she asked her mother why she and Gwen and Alice had cried. His hand fell lightly to her chest where her heart was 211 beating, almost tenderly. The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out. And then her pace slackened. He spoke English with astonishing facility and with a purity which often embarrassed his tourists. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him.
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