I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. I am not of the canaille, but a bourgeois. "Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. "Spare me!" he groaned, looking upwards. She unlaced his pants and slid them down his hips, examining him as he stood before her naked. "What do you want?" he asked, in a gruff voice. His age was not far from fifty. It was at the top of the building, and looked clear over a clustering mass of inferior buildings toward Regent’s Park. But ere the words could find utterance, her maternal tenderness overcame her indignation; and, sinking upon her knees, she extended her arms over her child. There is only Gerald to see me, after all.
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