He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. The Night-Cellar XVIII. Suffer me to precede you. I asked her to marry me, and she consented. She held her hand to the place where he had slapped her. The ceiling had, in many places, given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster remained, it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned with dusty cobwebs. He may die. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes.
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