“I do not suppose he will be home till late. I would have liked to know. "And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. “Will you say what you have to say, please, and go. At any rate, here I am, and here I shall be, twenty thousand feet above all your poison-reeking cities, up where God’s wind comes fresh from heaven, very near indeed to the untrodden snows.
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