"I could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife—No, not quite that," he added, a little confused. “What year was 221 that, about 1350?” He asked in wonderment. "Is it gold?" "Pure gold," replied Kneebone. B. And empty. He heard the door close; and in a little while he fell into a doze; and there came a dream filled with broken pictures, each one of which the girl dominated. “After all, why should he be surprised?” she remarked.
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