“Believe me, I know. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. “Mr. “I’m sure we’re all delighted to see you again, Mr. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself.
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