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She had adored the stupid thing, and kept it in her pocket for about ten years. You shall not take me alive. Love stories! It was of negligible importance that these books were bound in paper; Romance lay unalterably within. Manning might go on now idealizing her as much as he liked. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. "It would be a thousand pities, wouldn't it, to put so promising a lad out of the way?" "Devil!" exclaimed the knight fiercely, "Give me the paper.
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