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. " "My strength fails me," gasped the fugitive. I’m sick of this town and I can’t wait to get out. ’ ‘I thank you,’ Gerald said drily. Hurry to me, I entreat you. " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me.
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