Our ideal had fallen. I killed him, Nigel. A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. To his great joy he found a small garret-door in the roof of the opposite house open. The night was now profoundly dark. "I cannot do it. Success to our enterprise!" "Success to our enterprise!" echoed the others, significantly.
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