You want music. “I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. No offence, I hope. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. He was sickeningly aroused by their hands as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. I borrowed forty pounds from Mr.
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