C. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees.
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