The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. " "You mustn't think of that, Mrs. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. G. Marvel held her handkerchief to her eyes, and appeared in great distress. All these things spoke of peace;—but there are seasons when the pleasantest external influences have a depressing effect on the mind, by painfully recalling past happiness.
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