So I dare say I was christened Jack. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. “One has to live and learn,” she remarked, with a passable imitation of her father’s manner.
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