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For nearly thirty years he had lived here in contented loneliness; then youth had to come and fill him with discontent. ‘You are stubborn like a mule. I struck him across the face, jumped out and went back by train to Paris. Across the blackboard the colored chalks flew like flights of variously tinted rockets as diagram after diagram flickered into being. “I do not like to seem inhospitable, Anna,” she said hesitatingly. .
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