The next morning came a compact letter from her father. “How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. There were always parrots and parrakeets screaming in the fruit groves. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. We had such a pride in you, such hope in you. Wood," observed Jackson, in a slightly-sarcastic tone.
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