And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. Occasionally he would lean back and stare at the window which gave upon the sea. The end of the world seemed at hand. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard.
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