It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. Stanley. Why had he glanced up—quite in that way?. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. “Come,” he said, “this is capital, capital. "If that sickly brat lives to be a man," continued Jonathan, rising, "I'll hang him upon the same tree as his father. "I likes to hear vot you says. As soon as he gets into blue water, he'll think no more of pitching the boy overboard than of lighting his pipe. Stanley poured wine. “I won’t have you quarrelling and crying in the Avenue,” he said. Morality is a point of view.
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