CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT Part 1 Spring had held back that year until the dawn of May, and then spring and summer came with a rush together. Stanley had never thought out. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page.
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