“I think this ends the business,” he said, turning to his sister. You are just necessary to life for me. Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip Are dug from the mines of canary; And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip With hogsheads of claret and sherry. Am I going to die?” “I am afraid that you are in a dangerous state,” Courtlaw answered gravely. Besides," added he, opening the shawl in which the infant was wrapped, and throwing the light of the candle full upon its sickly, but placid features, "it's sinful to repine while you've a child like this to comfort you. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter.
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