But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. You are to come home. " "Are you man, or fiend?" exclaimed Trenchard, staring at the stranger, as he concluded his narration. . There he was, standing with a group of men who she presumed to be the other richest men in the world. Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. It was exactly as Sebastian had foreseen. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself.
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