“I think,” she said, “that I rather like what you have said. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. . " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. Pity you aren’t under my command. In the genuinely dissipated face there was always a suggestion of slyness in ambush, peeping out of the wrinkles around the eyes and the lips. They knew they were all Bogey in disguise. The risk I run is nothing to yours.
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