He savored the last solo, the coda. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. He wished he had the time to solve this riddle, for it was a riddle, and four-square besides. ” Chapter XIX “THIS IS NOT THE END” “I said some afternoon,” she remarked, throwing open her warm coat, and taking off her gloves, “but I certainly did not mean to-day.
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