"Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. Norris. It filled her with indefinable fear. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. "I thought you were asleep. You have darkened your eyebrows, you have even changed your style of dress.
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