“I want my life to be beaten gold just in order to make it a fitting setting for yours. " "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. She tore open the envelope and read it. The bed-and table-linen were of the finest texture. Little things, almost impalpable, had happened to justify that doubt; something in his manner had belied his words. They'll be back soon enough—or not at all. I have but to give a hint of that boy's existence in the proper quarter, and his life will not be worth a day's purchase. The old aspect of the place was gone.
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