Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. ‘Come,’ she called. I’ve always wanted to look older. She noticed an odd new gleam in Michelle’s eyes, a focus she had not noticed before. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him.
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