Och! many a mug o' bubb have I drained wi' the landlord, Joe Hind. You have grown into my life, and I cannot tear you out. Your life is like a funeral March. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. I see that compromise is more necessary to life than I ignorantly supposed it to be, and I have been trying to get Lord Morley’s book on that subject, but it does not appear to be available in the prison library, and the chaplain seems to regard him as an undesirable writer. “Who is the tenant of these rooms?” he inquired.
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