"Jack," said Mrs. Jack had got into one of the pens at the north side of the chapel. The white haze of poison clouded her eyes. Her aunt did not object to capital punishment or war, or the industrial system or casual wards, or flogging of criminals or the Congo Free State, because none of these things really got hold of her imagination; but she did object, she did not like, she could not bear to think of people not having and enjoying their meals.
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