"My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. "She has flown up stairs," replied the widow. I am apparently a beast, a pig and an imbecile, too, if memory serves me. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. Drummond nodded. At the Palazzo she had been confined to her own sunny windowed quarters most of the time, but she had the entire run of the inside of the manor.
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