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Dawn by H. Rider (Henry Rider) Haggard
page 2 of 707 (00%)
To the brightness of sorrow. For round her breathed
A grace like that of the general air,
Which softens the sharp extremes of things,
And connects by its subtle, invisible stair
The lowest and the highest. She interwreathed
Her mortal obscureness with so much light
Of the world unrisen, that angel's wings
Could hardly have given her greater right
To float in the winds of the Infinity."
Edmund Ollier.



"You lie; you always were a liar, and you always will be a liar. You
told my father how I spent the money."

"Well, and what if I did? I had to look after myself, I suppose. You
forget that I am only here on sufferance, whilst you are the son of
the house. It does not matter to you, but he would have turned me out
of doors," whined George.

"Oh! curse your fine words; it's you who forget, you swab. Ay, it's
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