“Soon enough, John. "'Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. “I have a letter for him from his brother, which I was just leaving. "Ah! Quilt Arnold, my man, is it you? By the powers! I'm glad to see you. "Poor fellow! I'm glad he has escaped. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork.
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