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The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. She spoke readily enough, but there was a new timidity in her manner. So the world is choked with waste and waiting daughters. Birthdays just ain’t the same once you get old kiddo. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. This getting up at dawn—real dawn—and working until seven was a distinct novelty. His eyes were red. ” “What!” he asked; “not a kiss?” She affected not to hear. "Well, Mr. This means of communication instantly brought them to the lobby. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.
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