"Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. With a little more meat on him, he would be handsome. After the twins were past the toddling age, Clotilde finally caught on when the children cleaved to Lucia’s breast when it was time to leave for a fortnight abroad. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. There was a fourth story; but he never told either Ruth or McClintock about this. Little more’n a week. I pray you, Gérard, do not fail me.
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