He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. " "Aye, music hits them. "A man!" "At your service, my dear," replied the jailer. ” He shook his head, and threw open the door of a great dimly-lit apartment on the ground floor.
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