The sun shined weakly through brief pinpricks 90 in the thick cloud cover, the weather was brewing a storm. 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. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. But are we any more free?” “Well?” “I mean we’ve long strings to tether us, but we are bound all the same.
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