"All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. "Old Morgan the trader," she explained, "used to save me Tit-Bits. "Whatever you say—you, behind those stars there, if you are a God. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. He had shaved his side-whiskers and come over in flannels, but he was still indisputably the same person who had attended Ann Veronica for the measles and when she swallowed the fish-bone. "Are you a human being, to leave her thus?" "It is better so. He was extremely loyal to you. There was a huge desk of heavily carved ebony at one end, and at the centre, a couple of straight-backed chairs stood before a great fireplace at the outer wall, flanked by two bookshelves with casement windows above.
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