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“Perhaps one talks nonsense about a woman’s instinct,” she said. The next moment, an exclamation was heard in the voice of Thames. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. Rain changed to hail, then 154 sleet, then snow. It was his particular hobby, and the leisure he had to apply to it had given him a remarkable appraising eye.
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