Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. Upon the steps leading to the gates of the church stood two persons whom Jack instantly recognised. His mom was a famous model. Before her stretched blank spaces, dotted with running people coming toward her, and below them railings and a statue. "I might return the question. Think if your own mother was alive!” He paused, deeply moved. She meditated profoundly through several enormous cold hours on all that had happened and all that she had done since the swirl of the suffrage movement had submerged her personal affairs. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection.
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