" "Then this is not my child?" exclaimed she, with increased astonishment. " "Well, so long as he gets on his feet in the end. She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. I’ll pay it. ” He smiled, and she felt love for him in that moment as the smile lit up his ebony eyes, eyes whose blackness seemed unfathomable. She had no place she loved. No one ate with as much passionate gusto as a teenager could.
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