It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. ” She glanced out of the window, and the distant trees were a froth of hard spring green and almond blossom. ‘My name’s NOT More, Mr.
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