“I had lunch very late to-day, and I did not get home in time for dinner. Gay," he added, turning to the poet. ‘Come,’ she called. I don’t care WHAT happens. At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him.
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