" "Your father did right," replied Jack, with some bitterness. “And that only brings me up to about sixty-five! “A glittering wilderness of time That to the sunset reaches No keel as yet its waves has ploughed Or gritted on its beaches. "Do not endanger yourself on my account," rejoined his mother. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. ‘I have told you, a whip it is nothing.
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