"What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. She formed a wild resolution, and, lest she should waver from it, she set about at once to realize it. We aren't between him and heaven; he is between us and heaven.
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