She was quite assured that she would never see him again. ” “Act two,” she continued. " Ideas are never born; they are suggested; they are planted seeds. He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty. Following her lead, he fortified himself with a swallow of the excellent Madeira before responding.
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