Probably he has something to say and can't say it, or he writes well about nothing. Fritz flailed against his mother wildly, crying generous tears. Wood fared still worse. It's fortunate we've no more Jack Sheppards, or I should stand but a poor chance. Wood had been my father, as well as yours. Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended.
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