"What would my poor mother say to it?" "I was sorry to see that about your mother, Jack," observed Hogarth. Two souls in travail; one inspired by fresh hopes, the other, by fresh despairs. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. A severe pang shot through Jack's heart, and he would have given worlds if he possessed them to have seen his friend once more.
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