He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. I’m ashamed to confess it, but I didn’t want the charge of you—a too close reminder of my own lost babe. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. “I told you I did not love you. "Shoot him! shoot him! Put him out of hish mishery," cried the Jew.
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