"Is it you?" "It is," replied her son, "Oh! why would you not listen to me?" "I was distracted," replied Mrs. ‘You are really not helping matters, my friend. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. I swear it. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess.
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