And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. The thief-taker's throat was bound up with thick folds of linen, and his face had a ghastly and cadaverous look, which communicated an undefinable and horrible expression to his glances. That’s my point. I cannot explain beyond that. For nothing will ever convince me that it is not the man’s share in life to shield, to protect, to lead and toil and watch and battle with the world at large.
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