So there is no escape. As it happens sometimes, the idea stepped down from the dream into the reality; and he saw it more clearly now than he had seen it in the dream. Ray Plote would not leave a written explanation. "Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself.
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