" "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. " And, as the weights were removed, he fainted. “Shut up, you little faggot. My garden-close would be a better thing than that. The terrific mental tension of the past few months —that had held his bodily nourishment in a kind of strangulation—became as a dream; and now his vitals responded rapidly to food and air.
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