" Pain was stabbing him, now here, now there; pain was real enough; but he could not establish as a fact in his throbbing brain the presence of his aunt in the doorway. It would be protective; it would with age turn to silver unnoticeably. "Give me the child, or—" As he spoke the door was thrown open, and Mrs. The weather's been foul enough for the last fortnight, but I've never turned my back upon it.
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