All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. If I surprised her, if I saw her alone, I might make her understand. "Mr. ‘Sir?’ enquired the lad. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. "Why, so it is," she said, in mock astonishment. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. \"Nice to meet you. The chain, which had been partially cut through, snapped near the staple. "Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real. Amongst them was a revolver.
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