’ A reluctant laugh escaped him. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. Life is two things, that’s how I see it; two things mixed and muddled up together. "Forgive—forgive me!" "I have nothing to forgive," replied Mrs. Wood caught hold of Jack's leg, and dragged him off the bench. It was a spring-tide at half ebb; and the current, which was running fast and furiously, bore him instantly away. Nobody who cared.
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