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She made lumpish and inadequate interruptions rather than replies. As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. “Okay. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. For hats that fail and hats that flare; Toppers their universal wear; A man scores always, everywhere. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. His mind was busy with a résumé of yesterday's unusual events. There’s that old gentleman at the end of the table—Bullding his name is.
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This video was uploaded to g-zaporozhe.info on 17-06-2024 20:46:36
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