Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley. “Looks like old times here, I see. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. Spare me, and I'll be quiet—quiet —quiet!" "Mother!" said Jack, advancing towards her. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. Such a beautiful boy he is, but his intelligence is marginal. Here I am as an alternative either to nasty work—or going home.
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