“Did you tell him?” Capes smiled faintly. . 9. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. “Well,” he said at last slowly, “I’ll pay it. See paragraph 1. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion.
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