So was I, in fact. I am carrying back a hundred new books and forty new records for the piano-player. In passing, why do we fear death? For our sins? Rather, isn't it the tremendous inherent human curiosity to know what is going to happen to-morrow that causes us to wince at the thought of annihilation? A subconscious resentment against the idea of entering darkness while our neighbour will proceed with his petty affairs as usual? "It's nip and tuck," said the doctor; "but we'll pull him through. “You ought at once—you ought at once to have told her that. How could you draw the curtain aside which hides the great and holy places of life—you, who have never loved?” “You have become French to the core,” she murmured. "Let us in," said the Master, rapping his truncheon authoritatively against the boards, "or we'll force an entrance. Wood, popping her head through the window. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still.
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