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Updated: May 2, 2025
"He's a fairy prince, and one day he'll come into his kingdom." "My dear, if you saw his mother!" "But I'm sure no one but a princess could be Paul Kegworthy's mother," laughed Maisie. "And his father?" "A prince too!" And Paul listened and drank in his goddess's words greedily. Truth clear as crystal fell from her lips. A wild wonder racked his little soul.
He collapsed, a piteous wreck, looked wide of the three, and threw out his hands helplessly. "I broke my promise. May God forgive me!" "That's neither here nor there," said Paul, standing over him. "You must answer my question. What do you mean?" Barney Bill limped a step or two toward him and cleared his throat. "He's quite correct, sonny. Silas Kegworthy's your father right enough."
He had a shrewd thin face, with an oddly flattened nose, and little round moist dark eyes that glittered like diamonds. He wore cloth cap on the back of his head, showing in front a thick mass of closely cropped hair. His collarless shirt was open at the neck and his sleeves were rolled up above the elbow. "You're Polly Kegworthy's kid, ain't you?" he asked. "Ay," said Paul.
No real mother could have pursued an innocent child with Polly Kegworthy's implacable hatred. His passionate repudiation of her had been a cardinal article of his faith. On the other hand, the prince and princess theory he had long ago consigned to the limbo of childish things; but the romance of his birth, the romance of his high destiny, remained a vital part of his spiritual equipment.
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