And it filled seven sheets of notepaper, each written only on one side. The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. The Press Room, to which Blueskin was conveyed on his arrival at the jail, was a small square chamber, walled and paved with stone. ‘Go then. I'm a graybeard, an old bachelor; so I am accorded certain privileges. Sometimes I tremble, Anna, to think how near I came to passing through life without a single glimpse, a moment’s revelation of this greatest and most awful of mysteries, the mystery of primaeval nature.
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