A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. And it is not at all his affair. You can scribble if you want to, but after you've given your eight hours daily to the mills. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. And, by way of checking his housekeeper's familiarity, he pointed significantly to the table. "I'll tell you," replied Jack, with forced calmness. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. She loved for him to regale her with the stories of his past, the days of ancient Greece.
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