From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. I hated the stuff. Very well, then. What else was there lurked in shadows and deep places; if in some mood of reverie it came out into the light, it was presently overwhelmed and hustled back again into hiding.
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