Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world. Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. Do you think that I am utterly selfish?” She raised her eyebrows. "My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. Quilt's manner, indeed, was that of a man endeavouring to muster up sufficient resolution for the commission of some desperate crime.
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