"You can render no further service to your poor mother. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. So I had to buy out his interest, and it pinched me dreadfully to do it. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. ‘Very well, Kimble. I am not come here to play the part of your father-confessor. No one in the world is beyond the shaft of scandal— we all catch it terribly sometimes. "And what do you suppose we mean to do with you, eh?" "You mean to kill me," replied Thames, "by my cruel uncle's command. Moments, indeed! We like each other fresh and fresh.
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