The man turned at the exclamation, and so did several of the bystanders; but they could not make out who had uttered it. "My mother!—my poor mother!" ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees, and bursting into tears. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap.
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