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He had been quite right to sit down. Wood having laid hold of the canvass-bag. For thirty years I have lived alone; but once upon a time I lived among men. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. Those were dreams. Thames Street was wholly impassable. "Will he live?" asked Ruth. Speak lower. Kent say to it?" "He thinks so highly of it, that he says if he had a daughter he would give her to the artist," answered Gay, a little maliciously.
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