He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. But of what avail is this? You have no execution, no finish. Terror had laid a paralyzing hand upon her, fear kept her almost unconscious of the curious glances which she was continually attracting. “I don’t think I CAN do that,” she said. It's a pity you wouldn't give me the prescription instead of the medicine, so I could have it filled nearer home.
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