***** The general office was an extension of the west wing of the McClintock bungalow. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. Jack had got into one of the pens at the north side of the chapel. “I do not know you,” she said coldly. I don’t know. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless.
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