"Stop a minute, my dear," cried Austin. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. "Once there," proceeded Wild, without noticing the interruption, "he's as good as in his grave. ‘Parbleu, but what a person you make me! One who spies. He wondered if these abnormal mental activities presaged illness.
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