The tiles lay a foot thick in the road. You are the High Priestess of Life. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. “I’m sorry. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. "Well, you women are forgiving creatures, I must say," observed Jonathan, sarcastically.
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