And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. . ” He shook his head. "You do love me?" "God knows how much!" Suddenly he laid his head on her shoulder. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding.
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