Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. ‘He lacked moral fibre, did Nicholas. But, as he made no answer, he was removed. She had been so young then. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. ‘You escape from your own convent, at great personal danger. I got three pounds, and there’s three on my watch. After all, life had still its pulsations.
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