How Jack Sheppard attended his Mother's Funeral 435 XXVII. Let me go my own way towards them. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. Abruptly she got out of bed, smoothed her sheet and straightened her pillow and lay down, and fell almost instantly asleep.
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