Mr. Wood, meantime, had not remained idle. “Thank you—and good-bye. “I’m not coarse—no! But I’ve got no purity of mind—no real purity of mind. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. I freely forgive you. “Like a stab. When he was up and about, the idea of flight would return. " "I see," remarked Kneebone.
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