A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. “Mr. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. ’ ‘That is what you think? Eh bien. Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world. She wondered what the problem was, why the buildup? She wanted to go to his apartment that evening but stayed herself.
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