He murmured his delight, and joined the bridge party, where he played with less than his accustomed skill. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. After the sights he would have to twiddle his thumbs until the joints cracked. ’ The door opened and Saling entered again.
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