He has nothing to fall back upon, no substitute; but a woman always has the mother love. She is more dear to me than anything else. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. It ceased to be the symbol of liberty and a remote and quite abstracted person, and became suddenly and very disagreeably the token of a large and portentous body visible and tangible. “I should like to speak to you for a few minutes,” he said to Anna, dropping his voice a little. He had a wild impulse to shout. The recollection was too painful, and he burst into an agony of tears. I wouldn't touch the stuff for all the pearls in India.
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