I've sent for the priest. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. You are going to be generous and forgive. But she did not know what he knew, that it would always be rolling up, enlivened by suggestion, no matter how trifling. “I have noticed,” he said, “that you seem to delight in taking a topsy-turvy view of life. I can see the whole thing was just a set-up for sequels, though.
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