" Something reached down into his heart and twisted it. "Whatever your intelligence may be I will strive to bear it. But there is something in your voice that makes me distrust you. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible. He had nothing to guide him; for though the torches were blazing ruddily below, their gleam fell only on the side of the building. Seventeen hours, sixteen hours. Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than as the indigenous Londoners they were. I want to ask you a plain question, and you must answer me faithfully. You’re dogmatic.
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