I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. Efforts were made to staunch his wounds and surgical assistance sent for. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. Fortescue in the drawing-room, and actually shake hands with him in an entirely hopeless manner and hope everything would turn out for the best. And not a worthy tome in sight. He meditated, and began a new paragraph.
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