Mind you don't stir till supper's over. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. The main idea now is of the future. Whether they are loved or unloved has no bearing upon this desire to test their wings, to try this new adventure, to take this leap into the dark. But it was now too late to turn back, and, nerving himself for the shock he expected to encounter, he ventured after his conductor. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. I'll remember that. Please to let me go there.
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