It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. "You shall see him to-morrow. Wood," replied Jack, calmly. "Won't you sit down?" "I beg your pardon! Come into the consultation office"; and the doctor led the way. Mike was draped over the laminate kitchen counter, on the phone as usual. However, to cut a long matter short, my proposal's this: —I've taken a fancy to your bantling, and, as I've no son of my own, if it meets with your concurrence and that of Mrs. F.
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