Any natural fineness would be numbed by drink. “Will he live?” The doctor shook his head. From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create. Spurling's sooty imp, Caliban. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so.
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