“My chief,” he said, “took it into his head to have an impromptu dinner party. Dreams of adorable infants danced through her head as she cradled blankets in her arms. He had the appearance of a man who has known no rest for many nights. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. We needn’t try and give ourselves airs.
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