Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. “The unaccountable thing is that I wouldn’t go home to please her. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. It rained slightly, and a thick mist gathered in the air, and obscured the beautiful prospect. Two souls in travail; one inspired by fresh hopes, the other, by fresh despairs. Then a light seemed to break in upon him. “I have brought you very nearly to my door. “Come on. “She finds lying up so much very irksome. You will survive, mark my words.
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