One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. " "Where are the assassins?" cried Sheppard. " "To-morrow will be too late," replied the widow, in a hollow voice, "I feel it will. “Impossible to say,” he answered. Stanley, with an imperious gesture, “to come in here. “Just like old times,” she thought sardonically.
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