’ ‘You may not get the chance. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. The one fault, indeed, of this school of fiction for him was that it had rather a light way with parental rights. There was nothing to be learned from her face. “I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. I should never have noticed the miniature at all, if it hadn't been for him.
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