It is we who have become the parasites and toys. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. ‘Do not beg my pardon. " The walls appeared to rock; bulging shadows reached out; the candle flames became mocking eyes; and the blood drummed thunderously in Spurlock's ears. “And you brought her a man, I presume. You care for me a little, I know.
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