This won’t do. \" \"Wow. ’ ‘Oh, that tragic pair,’ uttered her ladyship in saddened tones. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. Thames did not attempt to offer him any consolation, for he was almost as much dejected. But that, and that sort of thing, is just a day-dream. She remembered him as a dull figure, a big man with a belly that was already showing fat under his fine scarlet clothes. They sold him the whisky. She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands.
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