But she did not listen long; she wanted to talk. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. She took the initiative and guided his fingers inside her and bore down. ‘I have Joan to tell me how much I look like Mary. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack.
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