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His prayer-book was in his hand, and he still remained on his knees. He had been praying for me. Supposing me still insensible, he broke out in the following soliloquy: "Naviculator larvus pallidus how beautiful even in death! My poor lighter-boy, that hath mastered the rudiments, and triumphed over the Accidence but to die! Levior puer, a puerile conceit, yet I love it, as I do thee.
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