\" Michelle drifted into a reverie. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. To surrender himself to the law, to face trial and imprisonment, was out of the question. “I say!” he cried. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. " "Mr. ’ ‘Who were they?’ she asked abruptly.
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