"Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. Then he rallied, smiling a little. Meanwhile, the mob outside had prodigiously increased, and had begun to exhibit some disposition to riot. In a little while he and she were talking quite easily and agreeably. There is a tragedy to come. "Strange!" he continued, as if talking to himself.
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