And neither had any of that theatricality which demands gestures and facial expression. Drenched to the skin,—in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy water,—and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff, that he could scarcely move. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. Then we can loiter and gossip to our heart’s content. Keep up the clamour for five minutes, and I'll finish it.
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