Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. "It is past," said Jack, placing his finger on the trigger. My destiny, I am afraid, is going to lead me into the ruts. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality.
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