“We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. Anna looked at her, startled. "Strange!" observed the Master; "I thought he'd been at my elbow all this time. “I suppose you know I like you tremendously?” he pursued. But she made a pretence of struggling a little, for it would be out of character for her not to do so and she did not want to arouse his suspicions. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. After all, what can it matter? It was just to make sure.
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