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“I might go home, I don’t know. Wood glanced at the hardy offender, and not liking the expression of his countenance, thought it advisable to postpone the execution of his threats to a more favourable opportunity. " So saying, he left the room. And, for a man who'll never see sixty again, he's in excellent preservation, I assure you. Anna, you shall not go. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. "Oh no—no! You say this to terrify me—to try me. Take your case, for instance. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers.
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