"Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause. Her girl Clarice was next, dying within a single day, blood leaking from her pretty brown eyes like an image of the Blessed Virgin. ’ ‘Get going, then,’ Trodger told his men. Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, which presently they callously dumped into a yawning pit. ‘Who have lately joined us,’ she said, adding sotto voce, ‘A very great tragedy. “Listen,” she said. “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. Wood, contemptuously.
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