"No matter how much I tell of myself, I shall always keep something back. Brendon was silent. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. How did you get your luggage out of the house? Wasn’t it—wasn’t it rather in some respects—rather a lark? It’s one of my regrets for my lost youth. His eyes were fixed upon the tablecloth.
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