Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. “My Mom never gets a good night’s sleep. Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot are dying to see you. So many distresses— so many joys coming at the same time are too much for me. He was always tenderly courteous; he answered her ordinary questions readily and her extraordinary ones patiently; he always rose when she entered or left the room. “Is that plain?” she asked. But tell her this, too.
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