And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. Wood was an old friend of mine—and I recollect seeing Jack when he was bound 'prentice to him. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. They stopped talking, except to each other. " Just then, the infant began to sob piteously.
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