Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. At least, I hope so for his sake as well as my own," he added, mentally. ” He shook his head. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. Consternation gripped him.
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