He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. I’ve got too much work. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. You could not have aided and assisted us more effectively by trying to drown yourself in the sea. “Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked.
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