Yet either the rest or the wine seemed already to have done him good. Marvel was almost dislodged from his seat on the coffin by a dead dog, which was hurled against him, and struck him in the face. "Do not endanger yourself on my account," rejoined his mother. You appear to be amongst those strong enough in all ordinary matters, but who seem to think it quite natural and proper to give in at once and play the weakling directly—one cares. He died in the war.
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