” His lips tightened, and he frowned with solemn resolution. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. The Bach Cantata was played fairly well, Sebastian thought, for a lot of children. Everything in the world to live for!—fame that he could not reap, love that he must not take! What was all this pother about hell as a future state? By and by things began to stir on the table: little invisible things.
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