“I will have your true reason. The Morning Post was hungry for governesses and nursery governesses, but held out no other hopes; the Daily Telegraph that morning seemed eager only for skirt hands. Pramlay lived for amenities and the mellowed surfaces of things. That is why I am here. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. Some of my schemes are already in hand. Larry kept digging heartily into his spaghetti, not intrigued in the slightest. "See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently. "One'd think it rained fares, as well as blowed great guns. Oh, you must believe me. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. ‘You are an avid reader, I take it. But of what avail is this? You have no execution, no finish.
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