" "But, Lord, man!—don't you ever get lonesome?" "Don't you?" "I'm too busy. She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. She could not help but admit that she liked being smiled at and addressed in the hallways by hordes of friendly faces. Disillusion stands in one doorway of our house and Mockery in the other.
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