The garçon was tipped as he had never been tipped before in his life. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. . . " "I feel it," replied Jack, in a tone of agony, "and I feel it more on my poor mother's account than my own. "I thought we were going to have some music," she said. A slow horror was dawning in his fixed eyes. As he entered the shop, a tall portly personage advanced to meet him, whom he at once recognised as the present proprietor. She gloried in it: he needed her. It is not for myself I fear.
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