Couldn’t make head nor tail of that note of yours. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. That was the true miracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love and hate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to cast them aside for new imaginings. His demeanour then was sober enough to lend colour to that belief.
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