"The manager says there is still some doubt. She's plenty clean below. Knowledge was sacred in Athens, knowledge and his twin, Art. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation.
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