"Oh! that I could live to see it," gasped Jonathan. A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. "My mother is avenged. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. Hastily, he reached for the door. Some automaton within her produced in a quite unfamiliar voice the remark, “They’re playing football. Every one turned to her in astonishment. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.
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