Always. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. She had mentioned the address where she and her sister had lived. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. "I have," replied Wild; "and nothing but the evidence of my senses would have made me believe he was living, after the positive assurance I received to the contrary.
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