Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. “I had no idea that it was so abominably late. She wanted to think. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. To prevent the leaves from blowing about, should a blow develop, he distributed paper weights. Well, it had to happen somewhen. You might get faint, but you can fight it.
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