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" "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. Sheppard let fall her basket. Jackson, gallantly. ’ ‘His daughter, ma’am?’ Gerald asked. Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house. No more scuffling. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. Manning called. And what will they do, and where will they go?" "With me—the both of them.
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