Earles threw down his pen with a little exclamation. “How’s Mrs. Is there anything you want?" She laid her hand on his forehead, and found it without fever. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. She should leave sooner, but she just could not bear missing the event. Besides, you cannot visit people armed with a pistol in London, you know. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping.
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