All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. "My son! my dear, dear son!" returned Mrs. Wood caught hold of Jack's leg, and dragged him off the bench. “You’re exactly as I remember you!” “Forever fifteen, remember?” She stepped closer to him into the light of the television screen. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. After class his routine was unchanged. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. " "Pshaw!" said Wild. He felt his heart beat faster and faster—his self-restraint slipping away.
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