“I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. " The doctor was in the middle fifties, gray and careworn, but with alert blue eyes and a gentle mouth. Kneebone, who did not appear in the slightest degree disconcerted by his cool reception, each sank carelessly into a chair, and made himself at home in a moment.
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