"I beg your pardon!… A bit rocky this morning…. ” “But it is too late,” she declared. I had a hunch. Spurling, and her now accepted suitor, resumed their seats. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. A phase of mental activity that men called courage: to summon at will this energy which barred the ingress of the long cold fingers of fear, which cleared the throat of stuffiness and kept the glance level and ever forward.
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