But they been good to me, they have, sir. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male. At the head of the cart was placed the coffin. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. It was hard to resist. They were going up the slope into Waterloo Station.
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