It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. 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. "My servants, like Eastern mutes, must have eyes, and ears,— and hands, if need be,—but no tongues. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. Oh! Jack, Jack, you've much to answer for!" "I have, indeed," replied Sheppard, in a tone of contrition. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies.
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