It wasn’t pretty. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. " Almost the identical words of the boy. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. ‘I left a message at home that he should do so as soon as he returned from Kent.
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