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“Silly!” he remarked after a pause. So the talk went on, and presently they were criticising novelists, and certain daring essays of Wilkins got their due share of attention, and then they were discussing the future of the theatre. I want to put myself into your hands. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. They are blinded to all fine and subtle things —they look at life with bloodshot eyes and dilated nostrils. Jack, however, had an expedient for mastering this difficulty. She loved him.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 29-09-2024 23:11:54