"And now," he continued, sternly, "was it your master who has just ridden by?" "No," answered Quilt, sullenly. He caught the elderly dame’s eye, throwing her a desperate message. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move. He did not look up, so he did not know that in her other hand she held a glass of wine. So I come round the other way and—Lordy, miss, I’m that sorry I made a mull of it.
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