Kneebone and his Friends V. “We must go. There are times when you make me feel a little thing at your feet—a young, silly, protected thing. At present the world waits for that writer, and the confused record of the newspapers remains the only resource of the curious. ” He said as they parted company. Nothing. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master. So I made haste and recovered. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. I do not think that he has quite got over his surprise at finding you established here.
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