"Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. ” He would follow with a long discourse on biology, uninvited. As it happens sometimes, the idea stepped down from the dream into the reality; and he saw it more clearly now than he had seen it in the dream. His eyes closed.
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