The man looked as though he would have liked to deny it, but could not. Hope reared. All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him. Yeah, I’m thirty-seven. ‘Either you tell me why you want the wretched animal, or it stays here. He's a Welshman, and I wouldn't for a trifle that any accident befel him. “You needn’t be anxious about that! I shall contrive to live. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday.
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