Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. The ruffian's companions took his part. Her relationship with John had made her the object of desire for scores of teenage boys who had dared not previously think of her in such a way. It's exactly like a miniature I have in my pocket. I’m in this apartment and looking for work because—Well, what else can I do, when my father practically locks me up?” “I know,” said Mr.
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