She held out the foil. "My mother!—my poor mother!" ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees, and bursting into tears. There was a murmur or two among the watchers on the bench, but no one ventured to intervene again. She was consumed by misery and hate. The minute he discovers Roding here, he’ll know something is up. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping.
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