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Jack was lying so still, for a moment she panicked. "At present under the care of his preserver—one Owen Wood, a carpenter, by whom he was brought up. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. You have to come over to my house. Clear water gave away to gray as she waded deeper, feeling her slippers on rock. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order.
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