So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. I’m not sure if Janine cared. She knew that I cared for her, she had admitted that she cared for me. In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. Of course, why not? She would be honest, anyhow! She turned her eyes to Manning. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing.
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