You couldn’t help it. She hastened past. "You have always been, far dearer to me than myself," replied Mrs. . "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. Doesn’t matter a bit to me. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. Living, he knew that he would never send that letter. Still, thereafter she had avoided Morgan's; partly out of fear and partly because of her father's mandate.
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