The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. CHAPTER XXII.
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