Presently he felt motion. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. “What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home. But if he speaks—I fear what he may tell. Your own safety—the child's safety—depends upon your candour.
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