" And, as he spoke, he took up a sheet of paper, and hastily traced a few lines upon it. Gray and tranquil world! Amazing, passionless world! A world in which days without meaning, days in which “we don’t want things to happen” followed days without meaning—until the last thing happened, the ultimate, unavoidable, coarse, “disagreeable. "May I beg to know whom I've the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name. His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. Rattles were sprung; lanterns lighted, and hoisted at the end of poles; windows thrown open; doors unbarred; and, as if by magic, the street was instantaneously filled with a crowd of persons of both sexes, armed with such weapons as came most readily to hand, and dressed in such garments as could be most easily slipped on. ” Ann Veronica thought. Yes, I can readily believe it.
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