“Go on!” she commanded. F. “It’s all right,” he said, reassuringly to the inquirer without. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. " "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering.
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