He went into the study and sat down at his table, but not to write. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. ” He appeared to be paralyzed by abstruse acoustic calculations. It was now evident that he had not been normal that first day.
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