"Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. A shaft of searing heat plunged downward. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. “I heard they came from somewhere outrageous. The twins were a hard delivery, a C-Section. If I offered you half of my possessions, you'd doubtless wallop me on the jaw. She entered the kitchen. I don’t see that men need bank it with the women. You see, we guys bump up against so much of the seamy side that we look upon everybody as guilty until proved innocent, which is hind-side-to.
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