\" She handed the ticket seller, a boy that looked to be all of eighteen years old, murder money that she had stolen from Dawn Plote's dead son, five dollars. "There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow. “You must not. “Who, me? I scare you?” He asked. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart. Take my child to—it is—oh God!—I am sinking—take it—take it!" "Where?" shouted Wood. ” He reeled out of the room. But after that it was easy. You've saved my life. “I ought to have done. . Wood.
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