For a time they walked in silence. He took his seat at the table, but leaned forward to address her. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. Mr. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. You're a queer lad.
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