“We are the species,” said Miss Miniver, “men are only incidents. Slowly Prudence Sindlesham nodded her head, her eyes never leaving his face. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. As he lay on his back, he fancied himself gradually slipping off the platform. But your cracked skull is by no means a pleasing spectacle.
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