‘That is my mother. Usually his charges bored him with their interrogative chatter, for he knew that his information more often than not went into one ear and out of the other. But in the train going home her aunt reasoned it out. The misty caravans of which she had dreamed were become actualities. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. "I merely asked the question," he said, after he had enjoyed the boy's suspense for a moment. I'll forgive him if he does.
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