“Remember,” he said, “you are not by any means a dying man now, but you’ll never pull through if you don’t husband your strength. ” True summer descended like a sticky fever upon August’s arrival, bringing with it miasmas of humidity that seemed to hang from the trees like mucus. Will you let me go out of this room?” “No,” cried Ramage; “hear me out! I’ll have that satisfaction, anyhow. ” He passed his hand wearily over his forehead.
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