Her breath came fast in little sobbing pants. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. ” His voice sounded muffled and heavy, as if he had gone to bed. Nor is Theresa, or even Thérèse. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. ’ He fitted the hat onto her head, and was aware as he did so of her eyes watching his face.
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