” John greeted him. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. Side by side with the cheese (its never-failing accompaniment, in all seasons, at the carpenter's board) came a tankard of swig, and a toast. "You needn't gag me," he added, "I'll not cry out. "Is that all? Then learn from me that your hopes are visionary as their foundation. “A confusion of motives—that’s what I am!.
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