But while there's life there's hope. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. They are blinded to all fine and subtle things —they look at life with bloodshot eyes and dilated nostrils. I will shed no more blood. ‘She’s wearing a lightskirt’s clothing?’ ‘Nothing obviously so, I assure you. Sheppard, so that if the blow had been stricken she must have received it. .
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