’ He called through the library door. “Life is upsetting enough, without the novels taking a share,” said Mr. I am no use for a clerk, because I do not understand shorthand. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. There will be long stretches of idleness, heat, and enervation; and always the odour of drying coconut. His literary instincts were reviving. “I knew of course that you were at the Montressor’s, but I had no idea that it was a music hall party afterwards.
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