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Haven't we got curses enough on this farm?" cried Tant Sannie, eloquently; "my best imported Merino ram dying of nobody knows what, and the short-horn cow casting her two calves, and the sheep eaten up with the scab and the drought? And is this a time to bring ungodly things about the place, to call down the vengeance of Almighty God to punish us more?

In love and politics and the realms of Plutus, he carried all before him. Yes, Sir Henry Harcourt was the coming man. Quidnuncs at the clubs began to say that he would give up the legal side of politics and devote himself to statesmanship. He would be the very man for a home secretary. Old Bertram, they observed, was known to be dying.

"Jacques, my friend, cease your lament, for it is the will of God to take me away from this world where by His grace I have long dwelt and received more good things and honours than I deserve. The only regret that I have in dying is that I have failed in my duty ... and I pray my Creator in His infinite mercy to have pity on my poor soul...."

She had made, she told herself, the best choice offered her, and for the moment she swore resolutions of holy living and quiet dying, all in the character of Ringfield's wife. As for him, the kiss had sealed all and changed all. "Now at last I shall live again, be a free agent, able to do my work!

There was no hurry; he could make one, two steps at Bowman's slightest movement.... Lemuel thought of Flavilla deserted, dying alone with a parched mouth, of all that had gone to wreck in the evil that had overtaken him the past that could not, it appeared, be killed. Yet where Bowman was the past, it was nearly over.

Most like, Tsin-ling would kill me if I went away he draws my sixty rupees now and besides, it's so much trouble, and I've grown to be very fond of the Gate. It's not much to look at. Not what it was in the old man's time, but I couldn't leave it. I've seen so many come in and out. And I've seen so many die here on the mats that I should be afraid of dying in the open now.

Then in a fit of madness bent low and hissed: "You are right, old woman, it was poison! It isn't the first dose you have taken, either. I meant to have you out of my way before now." What demon possessed him to tell her this? His manner had changed suddenly, indeed. There was the look of a demon on his countenance. He seemed to gloat over the sufferings of his dying wife. "Andrew, oh, Andrew!"

Or perhaps there is latent madness in us all, requiring only the presence of another madness to set it free." Leopold was awake and looking at him. "Is it a very bad way of dying?" he asked. "What is, old boy!" "Hanging." "Yes, very bad choking, you know," answered George, who wanted to make the worst of it.

"And what if I really am dying?" thought Olga Mihalovna, looking at her husband's head and the window-panes on which the rain was beating. "How will he live without me? With whom will he have tea and dinner, talk in the evenings, sleep?" And he seemed to her like a forlorn child; she felt sorry for him and wanted to say something nice, caressing and consolatory.

These, we perceive at once, are the work of starved, anaemic weavers, who, failing to satisfy their appetite and having eaten the last grain of pollen, have, before dying, done their best with their poor little drop of silk.