“All’s well that ends well,” he said; “and the less one says about things the better. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. I’ve had a lot on my mind. He was almost paralyzed with nervousness and desire. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion.
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