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In spite of all this, he grew daily better and stronger, and his spirits revived. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. 207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. Wild's dwelling without apprehension, or quitted it without satisfaction. Her little white hand stole across the table. “I must take them,” she said, to help herself over her own incredulity. She wrote it down. Anybody in pain had only to call to him. The rest of the crowd followed suit with weak laughter.
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