" "'Ouns!" ejaculated Terence, in alarm, "would you turn snitch on your old pal, Quilt?" "Ay, if he plays a-cross," returned Quilt. Gray and tranquil world! Amazing, passionless world! A world in which days without meaning, days in which “we don’t want things to happen” followed days without meaning—until the last thing happened, the ultimate, unavoidable, coarse, “disagreeable. . Her fingers rested upon his. " "And, if you want an additional inducement to do so, I can tell you there's no one —not even his mother—whom he loves so well as you. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. "Ah, I see it all!" he cried, with a quick glance. "Well, I'm not far from the mark. .
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