“Do not look so uncomfortable, both of you,” she begged. My will is executed, and placed in safe custody. Somewhere in the world would be his people, perhaps his mother; and it might soften the bitterness, of the return to consciousness if he found a woman at his bedside. It'll be in your way. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six.
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