The two sisters were very fond of one another, I believe. "Do you hear me?" cried the lady, with increasing vehemence. I snatched it up, pointed it blindly at him, and fired. “I am happy. “I’ll go,” she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means and resources. I’ve just seen him. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. "It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets.
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