A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father. “What a gloomy person you are!” she murmured. “Do you need me to remind you that your patient is bleeding to death?” He dropped on his knees by the man’s side and made a hurried examination. “I suppose there’s no way of getting a decent income—independently. Heard voices. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. Wood. Wood. "Till then, I shall remain content," returned Wild.
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