"What has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked. At the bottom of the trunk was a large manila envelope, unmarked. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. "Come Bess,—no whimpering. ‘You have the means to take up your rightful place. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes.
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