S. It’s to do with adolescence. Now I shall never hear it but what this evening will come pouring back over me. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. I saw the motor dashed to pieces against the wall, and I saw him pitched on his head into the road. But the cases were not identical. They both listened intently. The floor was planked with oak, and covered with iron staples, hooks, and ringbolts, with heavy chains attached to them. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. We are going to have this chap writing books one of these days.
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