A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. “I loathe afternoon concerts, and——” She was really like her sister he thought, impressed for a moment by the soft brilliancy of her smile. She winced as he thrust the fact at her, was about to answer, and checked herself. I suppose we’re all human beings really, but what price the sacred Institution of the Family! Us as a bundle! Eh?. "It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. ‘You are mad,’ Gosse uttered, and only just had time to get himself up from the floor.
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