Good night. All right! I’m off. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. He went into the study and sat down at his table, but not to write. John did not see her until the last period. He thought, too, of the fretful invalid who lay in the next room to his, whose money had created his business and made his position in the world. I am loved. The child was now within reach; and, in another moment, he would have executed his deadly purpose, if an arm from behind had not felled him to the ground. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter.
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