See paragraph 1. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated. " "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. He spoke in quick nervous sentences. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject. She could even think of what had happened. Gosse had hidden himself successfully then.
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