I felt—I felt living in a masked world. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. Take the one that struck him at this moment. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. The lips were straight and pale, the chin aggressive, the nose indomitable. “My friend,” she said, “I have been your pupil for two years.
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