"Do you not know me, father?" said the young man, advancing towards him, and warmly grasping his hand. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. He’s terrible!” “Dad!” Lucy smiled at John. My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that. "I'm tired of the life I'm leading.
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