" "He may learn how to defeat yours," replied Jack. We pretend we never think of everything that makes us what we are. But it never said: "Tell someone! Tell someone!" Was he something of a moral pervert, then? Was it what he had lost—the familiar world—rather than what he had done? He stared dully at the footrail. . The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided.
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