Look at the poor victim at your feet. This species of madness cannot properly be attributed to his illness, though its accent might be. I can fairly understand Ruth; but you…!" "Have you ever been so lonely that the soul of you cried in anguish? Twentyfour hours a day to think in, alone?… Perhaps I did not want to go mad from loneliness. "I suppose I was mistaken," returned Gay. He—” “Here they are!” said Ann Veronica as the bell sounded.
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