Besides, by the time they were off his hands, old McClintock would be dropping in to have his liver renovated. Take my child to—it is—oh God!—I am sinking—take it—take it!" "Where?" shouted Wood. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same.
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