And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room. Brendon. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. Your mother, for what it’s worth to you—for there’s nothing for you here, by God!—was the woman I chose for Nicholas. Their momentary absence seemed to have worked wonders; for now the most perfect understanding appeared to subsist between them.
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