"Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. “In Paris our lives were far apart, and we had seldom the same friends. Oh, don't worry. She was to fall back amongst the ruck, a young woman of talent, content perhaps to earn a scanty living by painting Christmas cards, or teaching at a kindergarten. laws alone swamp our small staff.
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