Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. The water was cold but she waded deeper. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. But all those empty years!… My heart was hot.
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