. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter. I may want you. I saw someone in there whom I have always hoped that I should never meet again.
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