I never could. "He is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head. It had ceased to beat. ‘I’m a soldier, missie. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. It is very bad.
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