“An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money. The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber. And she would have rushed to him, if she had not been forcibly withheld by her son. For some time he could not stir, but felt sick and exhausted. “I am afraid that you are making a mistake. " "Let me see it," cried Thames, snatching it from him. ‘I am extremely displeased.
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