At once there came an answering knock. ‘I live in Kent. It shall be your wedding ring. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. Don't suppose," she added, with a scornful glance at her helpmate, "that I would pay him the compliment of thinking he could possibly be the father of such a boy as you. He drew a little sigh of relief.
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