‘Not where we’re going. “Your father is in the study and wishes to speak to you. A Hand that strove to reach his shoulder, relentless, soulless but lawful. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. Wood caught hold of Jack's leg, and dragged him off the bench. Your lamented mother, whose loss I shall ever deplore, perceived my passion and encouraged it. And the grotesquest fact was that she did not so much loathe, as experience with a quite critical condemnation this strange sensation of being kissed.
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