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He stood still, almost breathless. She was obliged to concede that his features were pleasing, his strength and vitality attractive; and there was no denying how well this uniform of a militia suited his figure, which was lean and powerful both. Yet you knew that I was not dead. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol.
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