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“In the bathroom. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. " The doctor was in the middle fifties, gray and careworn, but with alert blue eyes and a gentle mouth. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. Do you think we could manage that old clothesman between us, if we got out of this box?" "I'd manage him myself, if my arms were free," replied Thames, boldly. Go, and let him in. “I’m a big boy, you know. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. She creaked, groaned, and rattled; but that was only her way of yawning when she awoke. . . She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. “But it is so difficult——” “Not at all,” he answered eagerly.
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