"My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. It must be somewhere hereabouts. Thunder rumbled behind the manicured hills.
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