His hand flew across the paper. ’ The lady uttered a scornful sound. Gray and tranquil world! Amazing, passionless world! A world in which days without meaning, days in which “we don’t want things to happen” followed days without meaning—until the last thing happened, the ultimate, unavoidable, coarse, “disagreeable. ” “Of course,” he said, reaching out his hand tentatively for his hat, “I could go away even now. He was asleep. Well, while we were smoking our pipes, and quaffing our punch, Alsatia turns to me and says, 'Mint,' says he, 'you're well off here.
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