“But, dear, think! He is your father. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. Nor my grandfathers both. But woe to those who disregard them! Of course, basically it is all wrong; and sometimes God must laugh at our ideas of rectitude. She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. I wonder if he really wants me to go home.
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