Yes. That is so. I found she hated then (or even didn’t) her father who left when she was a toddle of three. She hated her mother (I couldn’t like her either) and felt only a fully justified contempt for her one brother. Which into waded: me. Ran on her a morning en route to the Red Owl — a supermarket not a totem pole — not looking good; when she unclad to me that suicide was all she had at heart, & trembled, I tried to, and did, clothe her with us. The marriage came long after; — there’s more here, pal, than ever we let out, but thus: bugged by her ice for papa, I had her trace the man down: — just dead, as no doubt he should; then I made her her cancerous mother’s friend who died happy. I see our son sometimes. I couldn’t help out with Brother. 
There's nothing Artificial about our Intelligence