He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he required no prison bars to accentuate this misery. This—all this swamps them. More than half the city perished. ‘I doubt very much whether they are yours at all. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. “I know.
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