By this time, he had apparently accomplished all he desired; for moving the bottle out of Jack's reach, he appropriated it entirely to his own use, leaving the devoted lad to the care of the females. You’ll come along of me, for you’re under arrest, too. "Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. I kicked the living shit out of him. The sounds that reach the ear, and the objects that meet the eye, are all calculated to awaken a train of sad and serious contemplation. CHAPTER XI.
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