" "You'd better take care of your mother's son instead," rejoined Blueskin. “Shit!” John quickly countered, “What are you going to do? She’s a motor-mouth, Lucy, of the worst kind. But, not daring to confess his want of comprehension, he made a profound reverence, and retired. I must obey. A middle-aged countrywoman, plump of cheek, and a little shy. Heaven forbid. John exited quickly from the side of the stage and returned to where his mother and father sat. The thought allured him, and therein lay the danger. It’s all right. She was naturally weaker, she would tire quicker, and she need not concern herself with the peculiar obligations of honour obtaining amongst gentlemen.
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