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He was a queer figure with his bandaged head, one eye peering out, and a long, dripping red quilt trailing behind him. “I found the bed flooded, and put the comfort round me; but someway that’s wet, too.” He could hardly speak for shivering. “I suppose you have a large farm, Mr. Wopp,” said Nell Gordon. “Don’t sit there wool-gatherin’ anyways, Mose, or the moths’ll nest in yer head. Ef you carn’t sing in toon, you kin bring up a cup of tea fer Miss Gordon an’ Mr. Eliot, an’ don’t fergit Betty an’ yer Mar.”.
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Conrad
“Mannel promptly hung his head and made no reply, being much too shy to attempt an answer in English, whatever his thoughts in Russian might have been. How sweet and dear they all were! How peaceful it looked in there,—too peaceful, clean, for a dirty, fighting brute like himself. What could he do? He shivered in the cold, and the pain in his eyes increased. Would he fall? Would they find him, have Doctor Carter, learn the disgraceful truth? If the world had looked dark that afternoon, it was now Egyptian blackness. “I must of looked like that Lize or the picter couldn’t of been took.” Ruefully he rubbed his bald crown. “No; I’ll do it first thing to-morrow.” He tried vainly to change the subject. “I—”.
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