"What does he say?" roared the long drover. Her aunt had secretly sent on to Ann Veronica some new warm underclothing, a dozen pairs of stockings, and her last winter’s jacket, but the dear lady had overlooked those boots. The man looked as though he would have liked to deny it, but could not. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. She has never done a really ignoble thing that I know of— never.
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