Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. We must wave our hands at the blue hills far away there and go back to London and work. ‘Well, only look what’s come of it. Once she stopped in front of a mirror and looked at herself thoughtfully. “Slavery! Downtroddenness! When I think of it I feel all over boot marks— men’s boots. " "Nay, if you're bent upon this folly," observed Wild, who appeared to have his own reasons for humouring the lad, "I shan't hinder you. I was forced to lay on a bed of nails for three days. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. But I do hope, Vee, I do hope—this is the end of these adventures. It 163 invariably leads to trouble. \" \"Well, if you must know, John Diedermayer from Science Class walked me home. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing.
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