"Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. I would even have taken a place as waitress in a tea shop. At six o'clock, the wicket was shut; and at nine, the jail was altogether locked up. She had followed a bobbing white hat and gray jacket until she reached the Euston Road corner of Tottenham Court Road, and there, by the name on a bus and the cries of a conductor, she made a guess of her way. I suppose I was a little idiotic—I don’t think we either of us mentioned the future, but it was arranged that I should go the next afternoon and have tea with her. I don’t care.
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