Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. The novel danger of the situation enthralled him. "Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. She just sat and told me that was her arrangement. " "Hum!" exclaimed Jonathan. ‘Where was I? Oh yes. She followed the official back into his room. There is so little abandon, so little real joyousness.
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