In the general survey of the prison, taken in the preceding chapter, but little was said of the Lodge. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. We’re hedged about with discretions— and all this furniture—and successes! We are successful at last! Successful! But the mountains, dear! We won’t forget the mountains, dear, ever. I have it on my conscience that I offended you—” “Offended me when?” “I’ve been haunted by the memory of you. So he shut his eyes.
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