‘I am sorry to hear of your misfortunes. Wood in a sharp tone. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. “You don’t want to go?” “No. When I think of it—” “But these are things I want to tell you now!” “I made a little song of it. Her eye met his four inches away, and his was glaring, immense, and full of resolution, a stupendous monster of an eye.
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