"Mother—dear mother!" said Jack, bursting into tears. She glanced at the soft-ticking clock with the exposed brass pendulum upon the white marble mantel, and made a rapid calculation. "We're all damaged—we've all got broken pates," cried a dozen voices. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. They seemed the most wrapped things in all Ann Veronica’s wrappered world. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. "Well," she said, in reply, "I may have done Jack an injustice. "Well, without immediate care he would have passed out. Yet even now there were so many things untouched, so much to be learned. Rage flooded her at his intent, but she controlled it.
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