The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. But God will punish you for what you have done this day. He refused. Wood required little pressing. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. "You hear that," cried Mrs.
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