I thank God for His sunlight on your face. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. ‘He’d have been that happy if he’d known how you’re the spit of her, miss. ToC Mrs. Very well. I thought I’d see Paris, do the thing—like a toff. I came to London to look for you, and somehow the figure I saw in my dreams had got mixed up with you. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. ‘I have no idea.
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