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He saw his father, calling to him from an icy white tunnel, beckoning to him. Wood having disposed of the brandy, and pronounced himself much better, hurried close to the fire-side, and informed his friend in a few words of the inhospitable treatment he had experienced from the gentlemen of the Mint; whereupon Mr. I don't care how soon he learns that he has lost his adopted son. God, Lucy, what’s it been, how many years?” “I’m so sorry, John.
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