He kissed her once on the lips with a passion of which, during all their days of married life, he had given no sign. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time. "My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. " "Jack's mother?" exclaimed the young man. She did not learn the kind of looks she had been bestowing upon him at a convent. He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale.
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