You never can tell. It was an impulse. Taking the direction pointed out, he rode off. In Darrell's open features, frankness and honour were written in legible characters; while, in Jack's physiognomy, cunning and knavery were as strongly imprinted. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. \"My parents. Perhaps you will meet him someday.
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