‘You wouldn’t know one end of a pistol from the other. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. You've nothing to do but to take possession. “I think,” he said, “that I would fetch any one whom he has asked to see. .
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