“Flesh and flowers are all alike to me. I—I hurt myself. His own peculiar genius—a miracle key to the hidden things in men's souls—had given him this immediate and astonishing illumination. ‘I disgust you, eh? Very well, then. People had started filling the hall: instrumentalists, overly conscientious parents. " "Anything, my dear," replied Wood, "What is it?" "Bury us together in one grave in Willesden churchyard. The girl is in it as deeply as he is. Sheppard. This gloom was impossible. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap.
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