But if he speaks—I fear what he may tell. His bodily suffering, however, was nothing compared with his mental anguish. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. It runs about gayly, it romps, it is bright and pretty, it has enormous quantities of soft hair and more power of expressing affection than its brothers. It was the very spot from which his poor mother had gazed after her vain attempt to rescue him at the Mint; but, though he was ignorant of this, her image was alone present to him. Mr.
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