" "I should have opened that letter in the beginning," said the doctor. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality.
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