It arises, I think, from an over developed sense of humour. He spent the evening telling her stories of Greece as she sat in front of a roaring fire. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. At last, she breathed. White, my landlady, believes his story. They are arbitrary and unjust and dogmatic and brutish and lustful. If it came at all, it was as fleeting as the girl's smile.
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