The slow stars circled on to the moment of their meeting. "No friend like the mother, for the babby knows no other. So I come round the other way and—Lordy, miss, I’m that sorry I made a mull of it. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. ‘It is London’s loss, ma’am.
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