She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. "How do you know he has any rights to be restored to?" returned Jackson, with a grin. ‘Sit down, won’t you?’ He crossed back to Roding and said low-voiced. “I wish he had,” she said. Sniveling brats, little fatherless bastards, you should breathe a sigh of relief. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow.
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