“What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home. Her name was Rhea. "'Sdeath!" cried Hogarth, aside to the poet. I have gone without dinner for three nights, and—come in. He was full of fabulous stories, not just tales of his own past in Rome but wonderful fables from the mysterious Orient and the ancient Greeks, old jokes and yarns that only he remembered. Jeez! It was about time.
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