‘I begin to ask myself why it is that I wish to become of these people. . He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. She could not say who, not yet. "Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause.
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