"Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. . ‘I’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ He grunted. In doing this, he chanced to raise his eyes and half fancied he beheld, shaded by a pillar at the extremity of the western aisle, the horrible countenance of the thief-taker. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered.
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