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“There was a sudden interruption. His mother stood in the doorway. Her eyes were swollen with crying. She dabbed them with a handkerchief. She stood there theatrically miserable. ‘He’s gone,’ she cried. ‘Without a word to me. Without a word. Oh, my little son. My little son.” — Mary Westmacott
There was a sudden interruption. His mother stood in the doorway. Her eyes were swollen with crying. She dabbed them with a handkerchief. She stood there theatrically miserable. ‘He’s gone,’ she cried. ‘Without a word to me. Without a word. Oh, my little son. My little son.