"Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. He uttered a deep groan, but said nothing. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. " "You did right," returned Trenchard. In rushed Mr.
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