I have been very foolish, but it is over. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. There one is! The same stuff still! One has a craving in one’s blood, a craving roused, cut off from its redeeming and guiding emotional side. He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale.
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