Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. Neither of these wards had beds, and the unfortunate inmates were obliged to take their rest on the oaken floor. It was not a hopeful looking group. "What's that to you?" demanded Jonathan, gruffly. ‘I am done, Gérard. I felt somehow I’d hurt you.
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