‘What started you off, you madman,’ Roding told him frankly, as he set about tying his handkerchief around the wound, ‘was being born at all. I put my foot down like—like adamant. I will no longer be a burthen to those upon whom I have no claim, but compassion. The ragged edge. I sometimes laid away my father's clothes in his trunk. Now, she was the very reverse of all this.
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