"Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. Nature is a mother; her sympathies have always been feminist, and she has tempered the man to the shorn woman. "Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother.
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