"My mother!—my poor mother!" ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees, and bursting into tears. Not fit to be dust on your boots. “But how can you?” asked Constance. Mr. "Are you hurt, Thames?" asked Jack, anxiously. Hopefully. Visible underneath his collar were some metal tags. He drew her closer. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat.
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