Stanley, “Mr. The young man entered into a lively little war of words with a yellow-haired young person near the door. It had not tasted good since 1350. 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. After knocking for some time at the door without effect, he tried the latch, and to his surprise found it open.
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