He was looking pale and ill. Other times, the Buick was host to intense make-out sessions that lasted until the sun rose. Wild never was the associate of thieves. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. As Wood obeyed, his foot slipped; and, casting his eyes upon the floor, he perceived it splashed in several places with blood. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. His own peculiar genius—a miracle key to the hidden things in men's souls—had given him this immediate and astonishing illumination.
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