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A certain irritation crept into his manner as he did so. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. I have—run away. “We played at love-making in Paris. He would have to sit down here in Canton and wait, perhaps for weeks.
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