"Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. It was locked. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated. “Mary!” He whispered loudly. “Dear friend,” she said, “do not magnify me into a physiological problem.
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