"I never had a pet. Now the doctor had the "feel" that somewhere ahead lay danger. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. And afterwards! Sir John drew his cigar from his lips, and looked upwards where the white-lights flashed strangely amongst the deep cool green of the lime-trees. She accepted his rejoinder with a brief nod. Gosse backed, not even attempting to parry so unorthodox a use of the foil. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes.
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