"He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. A shudder rippled across his shoulders. 1. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. Paris, 18. Somebody ought to talk to him, warn him. Cast off this weakness. ” She put her wrists upon his shoulders, feeling him surge with the pride of his own masculinity as she touched him.
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