His patient was distinctly of a different order of life. ‘It is London’s loss, ma’am. It was a refusal of expediency, he said, and not an absolute refusal. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. Hitherto in the world’s history there had been precursors of this Progress at great intervals, voices that had spoken and ceased, but now it was all coming on together in a rush. ’ He laughed. "My father!" she whispered. He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket. He filled her glass with champagne.
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