I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. Some doting parent had taught him well. Wood's cries: but, regardless of this, he darted along a passage, gained the shop, and passed through an open door into the street. He was in the house with his mother. Brutes! They are the brute still with us! Science some day may teach us a way to do without them.
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