It was the very spot from which his poor mother had gazed after her vain attempt to rescue him at the Mint; but, though he was ignorant of this, her image was alone present to him. "What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son. "No"—as if her thoughts were elsewhere. ‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault. His favorite newspaper was the Times, which he began at breakfast in the morning often with manifest irritation, and carried off to finish in the train, leaving no other paper at home.
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