” She threw away the end of her cigarette. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. And if sometimes I grow heady—and it's in the blood— remind me of this day when you took me out of hell—a thief. stare.
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