" "You are an angel, I say," continued the poor maniac; "and my Jack would have been like you, if he had lived. Just what in the world was that about? Before he could hazard a guess, Lucy looked back at him. “I can’t. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. When they started getting on each other’s nerves, she blamed herself at first. Marvel, who proceeded to the cart, and took his seat upon the coffin. ‘Poor Hilary.
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