Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. She dropped the manuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that a button hung loose. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. You're on the way to big things.
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