“You’ve grown out of them. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. "In this pit," he added, pointing to the chasm below, "your brother is buried. The chair is in the veranda. So I dare say I was christened Jack. He walked on for an hour longer, till he could scarcely drag one leg after another. " "Don't stir, or they'll chain you to the wall," said his mother detaining him. " Some innate sense of balance told her that something was wrong with these tales. Almost simultaneously they burst out laughing. The inside was empty except for an infant, which from a distance looked utterly normal.
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