The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. "Spring!—I never knew any. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. “If I sit here,” he said, standing up before her abruptly, “I shall have to shout. \" Cathy poured her a glass.
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