His room was last at the end of one winding corner. "Why were you afraid to show me this picture, Winny?" asked the youth. Drummond took up a cigarette and lit it. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. “Why will you not be sensible? Go back to your old life and your old friends, and forget all about Paris and this absurd delusion of yours. God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly.
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