This smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look. “Afterwards,” she said, “I should be perfectly content to have everything done for me. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. You want industry—you want steadiness. Now then. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless.
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