" "What!" exclaimed Mrs. “No,” said her brother, conclusively, “it’s not for a parent to go on persuading a child. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. . . The faithful fellow will never leave me.
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