” The redness in his face betrayed him. ‘Hadn’t meant you to know,’ said the nun gruffly. His patient was distinctly of a different order of life. She almost sprang to her feet. Of course, I don't believe she's what you would call flush. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. You may enjoy your pride, your arrogance—in a coffin. He wasn't quite hard enough to win worldly success; that was his fault.
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