The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. I’m convinced that much of Russell’s investigations are on wrong lines, unsound lines. But it must have been something that could show her to be Mary’s daughter. I pledged my thumb that, dead or alive, I'd pay the wager if I lost; and I should like to be as good as my word. Daughters were not like sons.
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