He then mounted the jaded hack, which had long since regained its legs, and was quietly browsing the grass at the road-side, and, striking spurs into its side, rode off. gutenberg. Everything had stayed the same during the centuries. F. The Night-Cellar XVIII. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. " So saying, he re-entered the house, closed the door, and, followed by the widow, proceeded to the fire-place, where a handful of chips, apparently just lighted, crackled within the rusty grate.
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