With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. His manner, however, was as stern and haughty as ever, and his glances retained their accustomed fire. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. Ah!" he exclaimed, as his eye fell upon a small knob in the wall, "there's the spring!" He touched it, and the door flew open. "Do not go near him, mother," cried Jack; "do not believe him.
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