“You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone.
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