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"The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. ‘Who, the émigrés?’ ‘Do I speak of the English, imbecile? Certainly the émigrés. "I didn't imagine for a moment that you'd accept it, but I thought it right to make you the offer. Courtlaw stood up. I will write to your major, and you will send the letter very quickly. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. Certain phases of irony always caused him to chuckle audibly.
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