And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room. The clanking of chains, the grating of locks, and the rumbling of bolts must have been music in Jonathan's ears, so much pains did he take to subject himself to such sounds. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. I loathe this room. I've my own reasons for disliking this job. He could have her in the car but she preferred a more private setting.
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