All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. Directly in range stood the strange young man, although he was at the far side of the loft. Wood. ” Annabel laughed hardly. ’ Amusement flickered in Gerald’s breast.
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