" As she said this, she drew a little aside, while Mrs. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. He gurgled as if trying to communicate. "What are you waiting for?" asked Jack, impatiently. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears.
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