" Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. Perhaps he truly meant it – perhaps there was a force within him that could withstand the hardships of existing past a mortal lifetime. Take my child to—it is—oh God!—I am sinking—take it—take it!" "Where?" shouted Wood. ‘Me, I am tout à fait stupide. . No tricks would serve. But the rise of the chest was quite perceptible now.
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