Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. Her features were meagre, and ghastly white, and had the fixed and horrible stamp of insanity. Still, my tutor was a highly educated scholar—my father. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. "For my part, I don't think you ever quite got over the accident you met with on the night of the Great Storm. You have to come over to my house. I'll write out certain rules of conduct, and then you'll never be in doubt.
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