Manning in fancy costume, as though he was a doll. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. With the last glimmer of decency he had sent the daughter to his sister. She sprang to her feet and stood listening with parted lips and eager eyes. “Call it warning, if you like. She cleaned everything, wiped every surface, mopped and scrubbed every last drop of blood. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. You have thought it worth while to take some considerable pains to resolve for yourself my sister’s identity.
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