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The next begins, 'Then answered Bildad, the Shuite." George coughed upon the threshold. "Terminate," said Mr. Marrapit. "Bildad is without." "Oh, father, George is not!" "He torments me. He is Bildad. Terminate. To your bed." She pressed a warm kiss upon Job's brow; took on her soft cheek the salute of his thin lips. "You have everything, dear father?" "Prone on my couch I lack much.
I am content. You are a good girl, Margaret." "Oh, father!" She tripped from the room in a warmth of satisfaction. The rough head of Bildad the Shuite came round the door; spoke "Good night." "Approach," said Job. Bildad's legs came over the mat. "You seek your room? But not your couch?" "I'm going to bed, if that's what you mean," George told him. Mr. Marrapit groaned. "Spurn it. Shun sloth.
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