Kneebone and his Friends V. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. And nowhere could I obtain the slightest information. He was human. Wood. Sometimes I tremble, Anna, to think how near I came to passing through life without a single glimpse, a moment’s revelation of this greatest and most awful of mysteries, the mystery of primaeval nature.
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