A nod was exchanged. "To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. It was. All the events of the previous day rushed to his recollection; and though he had been unintentionally the cause of his mother's death, he reproached himself as severely as if he had been her actual murderer. Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, which presently they callously dumped into a yawning pit. “But it still misses the nucleolus. "What's the matter, lad, after all the wonderful fireworks at lunch?" Spurlock beheld McClintock standing beside him.
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