There was Major Price—you must recollect him, Sir Rowland,—he stumbled as he was getting out of his chair at that very gate. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. You can test it out on us this Thanksgiving Sunday. “Why not?” Lady Lescelles answered. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. When I'm alone I don't mind.
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