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THE TRESPASSER
two, then he went over to his mother, and, putting his hand on her arm—the feel of his mother’s round arm under the black silk sleeve made his tears rise—he said, more gratingly than ever:
“Ne’er mind, ma; we’ll be all right to you.” Then he bent and kissed her. “Good-night, mother,” he said awkwardly, and he went out of the room.
Beatrice was crying.
