No black scowlings — no horrid gnashing of teeth — no hideous shriekings will there appal the loving ones who watch and weep by the side of him who is dying disconsolate.
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That Stipend is a carnal vveed / He takes but for the faſhion; / And gie him o'er the flock, to feed, / And puniſh each tranſgreſſion; […]
I have not felt any blow so much since little Normie died in 1908. It is not hopeless sorrow or resentment, but sheer staggerment.
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