abode; ts to my bookcase,resting upon ttle cz sofa, te curtains of tead, and tfolio of loose papers--ttics; and turning to ttemptedto seize once more terrupted.

    is not so good as it oaken to e out some of hose I had finished.

    to a drizzling rain,  tance ill to go, and tation, invited ocome into the farmhouse.

    tove and a badly closed door alter my point of view.

    I got up, o s and double-lock it; t to bed in e.

    I tinued to reproacil, toMontargis, jaded and benumbed h cold.

    Man is an eternal mystery to oside alone. Eacinually before ion ed Socrates, and whe walls of Delphi by anunknown hand: