‘You are Mrs Ibstock, I think,’ she said eagerly. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. But the sheer immensity of the tract! James Boyle was certainly up against it, hard. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son.
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