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‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. The one fault, indeed, of this school of fiction for him was that it had rather a light way with parental rights. That’s how it takes me.
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