"Enough," said Jack, recovering his composure. “Sir John is not at all that sort. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. “Now isn’t this nice!” that lady exclaimed. We’re hard stuff!” Then she went on: “To think that is my father! Oh, my dear! He stood over me like a cliff; the thought of him nearly turned me aside from everything we have done.
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