Wood. His body had been maimed many times. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. She knew that to expect more now was like anticipating a gold-mine in the garden. I should be sorry if Shotbolt got the reward. "I've made no distinction between you, hitherto," answered Wood; "nor shall I do so, unless I'm compelled. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. ” They left the restaurant just as the rain slowed to a dull trickle, the fury of the storm exhausted, having left mirror puddles in its wake.
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