He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore. And we’re going to fight that old world down there. “Now, Veronica,” he pleaded, “Veronica, this is most unreasonable. All these things spoke of peace;—but there are seasons when the pleasantest external influences have a depressing effect on the mind, by painfully recalling past happiness.
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