” “You are not yourself to-night, Courtlaw,” Ennison said. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion.
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