Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. "But to drag this innocent child into the muck! With her head full of book nonsense—love stories and fairy stories! Have you any idea of the tragedy she is bound to stumble upon some day? I don't care about you. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. “It’s bound to be all right,” she said.
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