‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. ’ For a moment or two there was dead silence in the parlour. “Who, me? I scare you?” He asked.
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