"You," answered Jack, abruptly. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. Larry Beck did his best to the flares of her temper from rising. I wanted to speak to you first. “I was frightened then,” she declared. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. Her confession was still unmade. The times were such that, with the opinions he entertained, he could not remain idle. One of the reasons why I decline to talk is this: that boy's punishment will be enough. I want to be myself.
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