And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room. ” He threw his head back. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. ’ She flounced back to stare out of the window again. It was necessary to think, and think quickly. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. " "And that's true," rejoined Mrs.
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