“Before this there was a sort of restraint—a make-believe. Whatever happened she need never return to that possibility. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. Mrs. Michelle moaned and Lucy, unable to help herself, stroked her hair. “Oh, Veronica!” she said, “to leave your home!” She had been weeping. They came from every part, from the pit, the circle and the gallery, even from the stalls.
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