Sit down, I command you. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that. He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. Capes agreed with the utmost cordiality. He answered with the greatest assurance, that he knew nothing whatever of the matter—had seen no pocket-book, and no associate to give up. The boy’s besotted. “I don’t think I shall.
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