"Yes, your son, Madam. Paul’s, were rich and wonderful with the soft sunshine of London, the softest, the finest grained, the most penetrating and least emphatic sunshine in the world. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. " "To-morrow will be too late," replied the widow, in a hollow voice, "I feel it will. "I cannot climb the boat.
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