"My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. You're a queer lad. You will be free to remarry, of course. When Jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition; but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed expression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them. And, by way of checking his housekeeper's familiarity, he pointed significantly to the table.
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