The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. He sat back in an easy chair with a hand upon each of the elbows, and looked steadfastly into the fire. His face was white. —'We'll do it,' said they, filling their glasses, and looking as fierce as King George's grenadier guards; 'here's your health, Mint. ‘A devil is just what you are.
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