It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. His revelry, however, was put an end at the expiration of the time mentioned by Jonathan, by the entrance of a posse of constables with Quilt Arnold and Abraham Mendez at their head. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. I felt somehow I’d hurt you.
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