“Nothing. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. He made a quick movement towards her, but she did not flinch. I want to be a human being; I want to learn about things and know about things, and not to be protected as something too precious for life, cooped up in one narrow little corner. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year.
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