He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. " CHAPTER XXV. “Just at present my mind simply won’t take hold of this at all. It arises, I think, from an over developed sense of humour. ‘I see well that I am dealing with you. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. “This is the slavery of the veiled life.
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