The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive. " "There you're wrong, Mr. " "Not necessarily. I overlooked the mechanical imperfections of your work, the utter lack of finish, the crudeness of your drawing. We've never caught him cheating at cards; too clever; but we know he cheats.
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