John finally wrested her away from the company of his parents, insisting that he wanted to take a walk in the park before it was completely dark. Fritz flailed against his mother wildly, crying generous tears. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her. Then he would turn his face to her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes. The theme was a masquerade.
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