" "I didn't suspect you of so much superstition, Mr. You have told me that you cared. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. By and by the tramp of horses' feet was heard slowly ascending Snow Hill, and presently a troop of grenadier guards rode into the area facing Newgate. So am I.
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