"Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations. At least for one moment, it was. It was if the world had blinked out for a moment. “My hand! This isn’t the place. You're alone, too, child. Her English was halting.
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