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thrown across the arm of the other, he returned along the gallery to bed, something slower than he came.
CHAP. XV.
I Wish I could write a chapter upon sleep.
A fitter occasion could never have presented itself, than what this moment offers, when all the curtains of the family are drawn—the candles put out—and no creature's eyes are open but a single one, for the other has been shut these twenty years, of my mother's nurse.
It is a fine subject!
And
