“We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. \" He panted, wiping sweat off of his brow with a towel. There had been disappointments and humiliations, and although she hated to admit it even to herself, she was in desperate straits. He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind.
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