“But, dear, think! He is your father. " "You may see the marks on the child yourself, if you choose, Sir," urged the widow. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. "I shall go back and finish my supper," said Mrs. “It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends. The tall, blond boys, right?” “That’s them. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit. It did not occur to her that they at least had found a way of earning a living, and had that much economic superiority to herself. ” She stirred gently in her chair.
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