John sat pensively in the back of his best friend's mother's minivan, piloted by his best friend Mark. She felt terrible lying to him. “There’s endless reasons, no doubt, why we shouldn’t,” he said. He leaned forward to embrace her. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. The roof was partially untiled; the chimneys were tottering; the side-walls bulged, and were supported by a piece of timber propped against the opposite house; the glass in most of the windows was broken, and its place supplied with paper; while, in some cases, the very frames of the windows had been destroyed, and the apertures were left free to the airs of heaven. "Of course," rejoined the bystander, who had just spoken, and who was of a cynical turn,—"the greater the rascal, the better they like him.
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