The picture in her mind altered and she saw again the way Gerald had looked with consternation upon the bruises he had inflicted on her wrist. She was inclined to think that perhaps for a girl the converse of his method was the case; an older man, a man beyond the range of anything “nonsensical,” was, perhaps, the most interesting sort of friend one could meet. ’ She halted, her pistol still held firm and straight, both hands gripping it, her expressive features at once determined and uncertain. 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. But underneath this tolerance there is always the vague hope that your manhood will someday reassert itself. He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her. But then the features changed. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack.
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