And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. Manning,” she said, “I HAVE a confession to make. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. Perhaps if I had watched over her more closely, things would have been different. If my conjectures are right, this boy would stay there indefinitely. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough.
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