” She gave him a Marboro which he lit with a Zippo with an American flag on it. “Yes. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. Epithalamy might do. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. But, this sad affair disposed of, I will not rest till I have avenged my murdered parents. She rested her head upon his shoulder.
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