But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. As you admitted to me—one has to square one’s self with the world. "You!" cried Jack, scornfully. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. What is it?" "Is there anything I can do?" The idiocy of the question filled him with the craving of laughter.
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