" "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. Spurlock offered his hand, which Ah Cum accepted gravely. “Who?” She asked. She never expected to get her ladyship home alive. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. She approached this field with her usual liveliness of apprehension. Down on me luck, I was, and they took me in.
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