And yet, at the end of this prayer a subconscious thought broke through to consciousness. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. Then the hotel manager struck his palms together sharply, and two Chinese "boys" came pattering in from the dining room. " "There you're wrong, Mr. “It is no good playing a game. He's a Welshman, and I wouldn't for a trifle that any accident befel him.
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