"My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. He must have married when he was quite a young man. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. . The slow stars circled on to the moment of their meeting. You have shown an almost feverish anxiety to eliminate from your personal appearance all that reminded me of you —when we first met. ‘Least of all, one who takes advantage of another’s misfortune.
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