The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. Well, come back in half an hour. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. .
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