But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. “Splendid you are looking to-day, Miss Stanley,” he said. Opening the door, he found it littered with straw, on which he threw himself, and instantly fell asleep. “I never saw Courtlaw with her—never heard her speak of him.
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