"Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. If there was a Yankee bar-keep in HongKong, James Boyle would soon locate him. She began to tremble violently. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room.
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