" Ideas are never born; they are suggested; they are planted seeds. Against the walls hung an assortment of staves, brown-bills, (weapons then borne by the watch,) muskets, handcuffs, great-coats, and lanterns. Her voice recalled him. They stank, and she hated how they blocked the sunlight. ” Ramage reflected. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners.
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