The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. You feel that that smile is for you, the words are for you, the whole song is for you. But Jack was too well versed in the geography of the place to attempt either of them. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter.
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