"You mean, it doesn't matter?" "Poor Hoddy! When you were ill in Canton, out of your head, you babbled words. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. Sometimes she missed her cue and nodded affirmatively when the gesture should have been the reverse; and Prudence would send her a sharp glance of disapproval. Why do you not go away?’ ‘Yes, do go away,’ begged Gerald. “I’ve been to hear you lots of times. His business has thriven; legacies have unexpectedly dropped into his lap; and, to crown all, he has made a large fortune by a lucky speculation in South-Sea stock,—made it, too, where so many others have lost fortunes, your humble servant amongst the number—ha! ha! In a word, Sir, Mr. Wood,—"he'll never mend. "I will administer it.
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