"A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. Jack's mouth was coarse and large; Darrell's small and exquisitely carved, with the short, proud upper lip, which belongs to the highest order of beauty. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. It was locked. ‘That’s a loud one. Let me recommend a glass of wine. " He shook his head. They were on their way back home, or so she had thought.
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