He told me with a coarse nervous laugh. Courtlaw, who was sitting by the bedside, bent over him. Darting down Field-lane, Jack struck into a labyrinth of streets on the left; but though he ran as swiftly as he could, he was not unperceived. “Well, I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. The two lovers sat together, and their sole discourse turned upon Jack and his ill-fated mother. It forbids—all sorts of things. So the talk went on, and presently they were criticising novelists, and certain daring essays of Wilkins got their due share of attention, and then they were discussing the future of the theatre.
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