" And, with this, he coolly re-adjusted his peruke. He next searched for his stockings and shoes, and when found, put them on. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. “What do you mean, Annabel? You only knew Mr. People were not slaves to their gods as they are now, oppressed and unhappy, chained to their mortality and suffering so that they may one day enter an imaginary Heaven. Do you see why I have hidden the terrible things from you? I chose you because you are my perfect mate.
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