It was a mad half-hour. ’ ‘You may not get the chance. His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird. He did not stagger in the least. "I must go. On the fifth day he had ventured speech with her. "Well, it's a good story. " As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. Then he rallied, smiling a little. " He drew down the lamp and blew it out, and followed her into the night, more lovely than he had ever imagined night to be. .
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