Wood could stand it no longer. “Yes. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. “Endless. She then dried her eyes, and laying her child gently upon the floor, knelt down beside him. As for loving you, I do.
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