It isn’t as though I haven’t done well. How provoking!" she added, pretending to rummage her pockets; "one never can find a thing when one wants it. His father and mother are gone now. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. ” Her elation teetered in mid-air for a second, then began to flutter down around her like a badly-built house of cards.
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