There’s no family uniting instinct, anyhow; it’s habit and sentiment and material convenience hold families together after adolescence. But I've stacks of books and a grand piano-player. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear.
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