“What the devil are you doing star-gazing here?” Ennison looked at him in surprise. ‘While you are making me this interrogation, my poor Jacques bleeds to death. ‘You have not the right. But God did not put you next door. When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity. Farewell.
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