So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. ” “NEVER!” Her heart sank at the change in his expression. "Don't swear, Jack, or I shall distrust you. We already had a place to mislay blame. ” “I borrowed it,” said Ann Veronica in a casual tone, with white despair in her heart.
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