Apparently she was always doomed to weep when she talked to her father. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. He waited. The Disguise. The simile started a laugh in his throat. "You're right Jack," he said, after a pause, during which he contemplated the picture with the most fixed attention: "this must have been my father!" "No doubt of it," answered Sheppard; "only compare it with Winny's drawing, and you'll find they're as like as two peas in a pod. Awkwardly, he closed his eyes and fumbled for a kiss. I suppose we’re all human beings really, but what price the sacred Institution of the Family! Us as a bundle! Eh?.
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