"Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. She ducked behind a pile of unused drywall. The violence of the collision nearly threw him backwards, and caused him to swerve as he sprang. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. His shirt also was unbuttoned, and disclosed a neck like that of an ox, and a chest which might have served as a model for a Hercules.
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