‘I knowed he were a wrong ’un, but that. “What are you doing?” He cried. In the discussion there was the oddest mixture of things that were personal and petty with an idealist devotion that was fine beyond dispute. It rained heavily all day, so he did not stir forth. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life.
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