"Get from under it, Jack!" vociferated Thames. Humph. “Why can’t we propagate by sexless spores, as the ferns do? We restrict each other, we badger each other, friendship is poisoned and buried under it!. What could I do at home? The other’s a crumple-up—just surrender. And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall. "Tell him that I—his adopted son, Thames Darrell— am detained here by Jonathan Wild. But the father, to go his way forever alone! The iron in the man!—the iron in this child of his! Wanting a little love, a caress now and then. Well, my dear, it is time you stopped wallowing in your sorrows like a common wretch.
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