Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. But I waited in vain. “All right, Dunster,” he said. You know what's what. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. ‘You ain’t got nothing on me. The command was sullenly obeyed, for the fellow did not appear to relish the rating.
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