It's a long time, ma, since you kissed me and held me on your lap, and acted as if you loved me! Oh, mamma!' He laid the pale cheek, wet with grateful tears, close against her own. 'Why a'n't you good to me always? I love you _now_, but I don't love you always; I _can't_ love you always, ma. That day when you frightened me so, when you pulled my hair, threw me down on the floor, and whipped me till the blood ran, I didn't like you for a long time _then_, you hurt me so.'
The grief of the wretched mother burst forth anew in sobs and tears.
'Oh, Harry! oh, my poor, poor child! Did ma do that?'
'Don't cry, ma, oh, don't cry; I don't think you meant to do it. There is something that changes you, that makes you cross and strange. And ma'-the timid voice sank away to a low, frightened whisper, broken and tremulous with tears.
'Yes, dearest.'
'You won't be angry, dear mamma?'
'No, love, no.'
He hid his face on her shoulder, sobbing:
'It's something that you drink.
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