A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. “No, he wouldn’t come here of all places—just now. Better get back now! You be careful. I wanted to talk to you before when you first came to live here two years ago, but I never did. Sepulchre's. If he could keep it up—style and calibre of imagination—within a year the name of Taber would become widely known. I never could. You'll be wasting his time.
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