“I think,” he said, “that I would fetch any one whom he has asked to see. ‘And just who is Leonardo?’ ‘How in God’s name should I know?’ demanded Roding irascibly. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. From McClintock's came an infernal tinkletinkle, tump-tump! There was no composing with such a sound hammering upon the ear. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry.
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