He was a bad dog; he knew it perfectly; but where there was laughter, there was hope. I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood. She forbade him to escape to his workshop in the basement during those times, denying him his one and only hobby. There were moments when she doubted whether the whole mass of movements and societies and gatherings and talks was not simply one coherent spectacle of failure protecting itself from abjection by the glamour of its own assertions.
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