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Somewhere in the world would be his people, perhaps his mother; and it might soften the bitterness, of the return to consciousness if he found a woman at his bedside. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. . ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ said Gerald in a low tone. “Have some more port wine, sir?” “It’s a very sound wine,” said Mr.
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