They are things faint and slight in themselves, as physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose the explosive. And yet—I love you. "Mother—dear mother!" said Jack, bursting into tears. There were moments when she doubted whether the whole mass of movements and societies and gatherings and talks was not simply one coherent spectacle of failure protecting itself from abjection by the glamour of its own assertions. "Always plenty to spare. Wood," said Jonathan, advancing towards him, and speaking in a low tone, "the secret of your adopted son's birth is known to me.
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