5. "Not a syllable!" answered the carpenter, angrily. But he was wide awake. At any rate, here I am, and here I shall be, twenty thousand feet above all your poison-reeking cities, up where God’s wind comes fresh from heaven, very near indeed to the untrodden snows. “You shall go,” he declared. He was never drunk in the accepted meaning of the word; rather he walked in a kind of stupefaction. It came again.
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