"My portrait!" echoed Jack. It is no good waiving the thing; it is true. People of your sort—I don’t want the instincts to—to rush our situation. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. Beneath two tall elms, whose boughs completely overshadowed the roof, stood Mr.
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