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" "Come, come, Captain," remonstrated Blueskin. . "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. He encouraged her to join him in his debauchery. These daughters! He gnawed his pen and reflected, tore the sheet up, and began again. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. . "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. Degree! degree! She smiled on a gallant of high degree. “Can you spare me forty pounds?” she said. “I hope you realize,” he went on, in a lower and less assured tone, “that I am in earnest—very much in earnest.
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