Miss Charvill. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. . Yet you catch her eye—you can’t seem to escape from it. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. You will certainly be compromised. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean. You shall lie upon your back; your head shall be covered; and your feet shall be bare.
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