What are you to do with a mad mother at a time when you need all your wits to take care of yourself?" "Don't concern yourself further about me," returned Jack. She waited a few minutes, then greeted the burly doorman who stood as the building’s lone sentry. You care for me just a little, I know. But she doesn’t and won’t divorce me. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books.
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