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Though we call prussic acid the agent of a person’s death, the whole of the vital and organic properties of the patient are as actively instrumental as the poison, in the chain of effects which so rapidly terminates his sentient existence.
Strange tales have been told in the wanderings of dying men; tales so full of guilt and crime, that those who stood by the sick person’s couch have fled in horror and affright, lest they should be scared to madness by what they heard and saw; and many a wretch has died alone, raving of deeds the very name of which has driven the boldest man away.
‘Brother, I am the poor person’s child, I will give you sixpence for the kekaubi.’ ‘Poor person’s child; how came you by that necklace?’ ‘Be civil, brother; am I to have the kekaubi?’ ‘Not for sixpence; isn’t the kettle nicely mended?’ ‘I never saw a nicer mended kettle, brother; am I to have the kekaubi, brother?’ ‘You like me, then?’
The first time I went on shore I was called to by a stout man wearing a linen jacket and trousers, with an immense broad-brimmed straw hat on his head, and his address was abrupt and by no means polished. “What ship,” said he, “officer?” “The Volage,” replied I, not in love with the person’s face, which was bluish-red, with a large nose. “Then,” said he, “you bloody dog, come and bow to my bishop,” pointing to the best house there.
‘There is no faith in countenances,’ said some Roman of old; ‘trust anything but a person’s countenance.’ ‘Not trust a man’s countenance?’ say some moderns, ‘why, it is the only thing in many people that we can trust; on which account they keep it most assiduously out of the way.
In proportion to any person’s deficiency of knowledge and mental cultivation is, generally, his inability to discriminate between his inferences and the perceptions on which they were grounded. Many a marvelous tale, many a scandalous anecdote, owes its origin to this incapacity.
But such was the young person’s ‘game.’ The enchantress gave the unhappy young man no hope until the last moment, when he knelt before her, stretching out hands that were already stained with the blood of his father and rival.
She will be grateful to you; she will bring you her little dog to show you, her pretty juggal; the poor person’s child will come and see you again; you are not going away to-day, I hope, or to-morrow, pretty brother, grey-haired brother—you are not going away to-morrow, I hope?’
Inside, there where a person’s heart and entrails are, was a network of wheels and screws and little tubes and wires, all made of real metal.” “That is strange, really strange. Well?” “He is making something,” continued Eleanore, “that much is clear. But if I could tell you how I felt when I saw the thing! I never felt so sad in my life.
It is plain that there is no universal law operating here, except the law that each person’s conceptions are governed and limited by his individual experiences and habits of thought.
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