To have written a short story in a week was rather a remarkable feat. “Yeah. “That’s a weird name. E. The chair was torture. The man’s passion became almost unbearable at the thought of losing her. Men in this part of the world drink to forget the things they have lost. “Are you a special sort of clergyman,” she said, after a pause, and looking down her nose at him, “or do you go to the Universities?” “Oh!” he said, profoundly. “If they matter to you, they matter. ‘Comment? What do you wish?’ ‘What the devil do you think you’re up to now, I’d like to know?’ Her eyes flashed. "It is time!" "For what?" grumbled the latter, rubbing his eyes.
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