I believe you’ve crushed a gland or something. She never had been much of a looker, but she had stopped worrying about such things long ago. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. Do they, Bess?" "Certainly not," replied the young lady appealed to, "especially about their sons. It was you! It was exactly you, but it was probably the photo they thought it was your mother! I dug it up after combing the Reader’s Guide To Periodical Literature for like, six hours straight. Quite soon, after we were married—it was just within a year—I formed a friendship with the wife of a friend, a woman eight years older than myself.
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