“I am sorry that I have murdered you. “Hospital? What for? What’s the matter with me?” Courtlaw’s voice sank to a whisper. The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey. It was now a quarter past twelve. "There!" cried Mrs. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full.
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