" With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. His voice had broken. Here he set down the lamp, and took out a key, and as he did so the expression of his countenance was so atrocious, that Jack felt assured he was not wrong in his suspicions. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes.
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