It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. As he lay on his back, he fancied himself gradually slipping off the platform. ’ ‘Alas.
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