He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that it struck the child and the grown-up impartially. He saw the tragedy on the boy's face; but he was merciless. He was tender with her as he had not been in years. " But this difficulty was only overcome to be succeeded by one still greater. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. “You are very good,” she said.
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