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. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. Following her lead, he fortified himself with a swallow of the excellent Madeira before responding. He had heard nothing. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. When it came time to eat once again, she hid out on the beach, a remote fastness beyond the city walls, a swampy morass that everyone avoided.
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