’ Fire enveloped Charvill’s mind and he brought up his cane, pointed like a musket. They were both dressed in every respect alike. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. ’ ‘So Charvill did tell him,’ Gerald said, once more staring into the hole in the wall. I keep on thinking of little details and aspects of your voice, your eyes, the way you walk, the way your hair goes back from the side of your forehead.
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