" "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. All the rest—Movements! I can live now on fourpence a day. How men suffer for the foolish things they do!" "Ay to that. They can’t help seeing things in the way they do. But tell her this, too. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. I hate children. One is always familiar with the business of one’s neighbours. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. “Oh, damn!” he said.
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