She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions. "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. ’ She stopped, her lips tightening. ” He smiled at the naiveté of her suggestion. Father-worshipping sons are abnormal— and they’re no good. And Charcam, fearful of another charge in his master's present uncertain mood, disappeared. ’ ‘On the contrary.
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