definitely closed.

"I want my views understood," said Mr. Tappan, addressing the board of
solemn-visaged directors assembled in session to determine upon the fate
of two motherless little children. "Indiwidoolism is nurtured in
excloosion; the elimination of the extraneous is necessary for the
dewelopment of indiwidoolism. I regard the human indiwidool as sacred.
Like a pearl"--he pronounced it "poil"--"it can grow in beauty and
symmetry and purity and polish only when nourished in seclusion.
Indiwidoolism is a poil without price; and the natal mansion,
gentlemen--if I may be permitted the simulcritude--is its oyster.

"My old friend, Anthony Seagrave, shared with me this unalterable
conwiction. I remember in the autumn of 1859----"

The directors settled themselves in their wadded arm-chairs; several
yawned; some folded their hands over their ample stomachs. The June
atmosphere was pleasantly conducive to the sort of after-luncheon
introspection which is easily soothed by monotones of the human voice.

And while Mr. Tappan droned on and on, some of the directors watched him
with one eye half open, thinking of other things, and some listened,
both eyes half closed, thinking of nothing at all.

Many considered Mr. Tappan a very terrible old man, though why
terrible, unless the most rigid honesty and bigoted devotion to duty
terrifies, nobody seemed to know.

Long Island Dutch--with all that it implies--was the dull stock he
rooted in. Born a poor farmer's son, with a savage passion for learning,