He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. She felt sickeningly empty. Soot was everywhere, for the lamp would not stay trimmed in the gale. The last Meeting between Jack Sheppard and his Mother 419 XXIV. ‘But I was not there.
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