Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. I have come to you for sympathy, perhaps for help. " "It wasn't the fumes of whisky that toppled him out of his chair. I can't invent; the thing won't come. Anna was singing as she used to sing. Are you sure you're not misinformed, Sir?" "I was in the Lodge at the time," replied the jailer.
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