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The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. ‘Neither do I,’ he responded, frowning, ‘but for Gerald’s sake, I’ll do anything I can. ” “Right!” he answered. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. But the cases were not identical. The chair is in the veranda.
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