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These were yarns! As he was about to slip the manuscripts into the envelope, something caught his eye: by Howard Spurlock. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. Such names shone brightly in the darkness, with black spaces of unilluminated emptiness about them, as stars shine in the night; but now—now it was different; now it was dawn—the real dawn. Whenever they stepped from the chairs, he stepped down.
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