But women—women as a rule don’t throw themselves into things like that. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move. I saw him yesterday, and he told me he shouldn't stir from home for a week to come. But, you see, she HAS to lie up. She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck. Idleness is the key of beggary, Jack. Out of the beaten track, far from the trails of men! He relaxed.
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