“This is a very foolish sort of entertainment. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. They came from every part, from the pit, the circle and the gallery, even from the stalls. “You see the pointer?” he asked. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. He upset some one —probably Mr. ” “Did it hurt when we did it?” His voice rose, inflamed with worry. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. “Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. " "You'd better," replied Quilt.
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