‘Can you not open it?’ she cried. I made Hainault’s acquaintance, stood him drinks, lent him money. His condition is not unfavourable, but there may be a relapse at any moment. . . He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. “You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go. "A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice.
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