’ A sudden frown sprang to the fellow’s face. I wanted to have something to give up. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. “Much better. They don’t catch on to discursive interests, you see, because they are more serious, they are concentrated on the central reality of life, and a little impatient of its—its outer aspects.
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