" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. ’ ‘I do not tell you why,’ the lady uttered flatly. She gave tongue to the most urgent of her plaints. "I leave this bowl for you," he cried, returning it to the landlord untasted. Years ago, when you were a girl and in the bloom of your beauty, I loved you. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound.
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