He lunched in the Legal Club in Chancery Lane, and met Ogilvy. “I have not left this apartment myself. I told you no good would come of it. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life. Sure of foot, noiseless, he made the veranda and paused at the side of one of the screened windows.
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