"He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. I was sure you could not have the heart to slay a child—an innocent child. ” He saw her into the train at Waterloo, and stood, a tall, grave figure, with hat upraised, as the carriage moved forward slowly and hid him. “Of course,” she said diffidently, “this is a boarding-house, although we never take in promiscuous travellers.
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