Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. Believe me, Anna. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. “I heard your voices, and the hall is draughty. Perhaps I am still mad. ” She taunted.
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