“If it will keep you busy,” he said, with a faintly ironical smile. “My mom is making duck. The twenty pounds burned with avidity. He greeted the corpulent boy at the register, whose tag read, \"MY NAME IS Jason\" with familiarity. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order.
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