Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. We went to the Embassy. “Is it your maid?” he asked. "I didn't think you'd been so easily fooled, Joan. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh.
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