‘I—I mean, she were—’ ‘Pretty as a picture?’ suggested Gerald. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. His glance came up again and met hers. She would have just to keep the fifteen pounds until she could make it twenty. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. ” He was bereft of words for a moment, and in that moment she escaped, having passed him on deftly to one of the later arrivals. Then she spoke, with a carelessness he instantly suspected. Set yourself to find it out, if you will—but if you do, never dare to call yourself my friend again.
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