" McClintock saw indeed—two things: that the boy had no conceit and that this odd girl would always be giving. He would have to go on; he would be forced to enact all the obligations he had imposed upon himself. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. The infant was rescued from a watery-grave by an honest mechanic, who has since brought him up as his own son. ’ ‘Hadn’t the wit, you mean. She had underestimated his animal ability to sense weakness. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city. And, when I have seen him pining away before my eyes, getting thinner and thinner every day, I have sometimes thought my prayers were heard. “It’s a nice holiday.
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