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” “It was Cheveney!” he said slowly. ’ ‘What?’ uttered Gerald, startled. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. My heart misgives me. Bodies! Bodies! Horrible things! We are souls. The black clad students streamed slowly to their positions carrying their instruments like offerings to the pilgrimage. He tries hard to conceal it, but he cannot.

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