She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. ‘Ah, the tragedy. "Red apples and snow!" he repeated. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. “Upon my word,” he exclaimed, “this is most extraordinary. “Neither you nor I, Nigel, are made of such stuff,” she answered. The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day. ’ ‘So Charvill did tell him,’ Gerald said, once more staring into the hole in the wall. As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable.
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