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Not a drop of sweate trickeled downe my breast and my sides, but I dreamd it was a smooth edgde razor tenderly slicing down my breast and my sides. If any knockt at doore. I supposed it was the beadle of Surgeons Hall come for mee. In the night I dreamd of nothing but Phlebotomie, bloudy fluxes, incamatiues, running vlcers. I durst not let out a wheale for feare through it I should bleed to death.
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