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I sometimes laid away my father's clothes in his trunk. And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room. Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing? It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he had said and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw of excuse. Was he planning on spending more time with her once in the country? The streets choked with beggars and the dying.
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