Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. ‘Point it at me. Together they made their painful way to the door, not even checking, in the effort this cost both, on what Gosse might be doing.
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