Mrs. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. "What does Mr. . " "Of course—of course," returned Wood, hastily; "anything's better than that. Mr. I will endeavour. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin.
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