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Give me the keys and the light. Unless he can arise from the bottom of the Thames, where he and his abhorred father lie buried, you will never behold him again in this world. That is what they call these aristocratic refugees, the English. In passing, why do we fear death? For our sins? Rather, isn't it the tremendous inherent human curiosity to know what is going to happen to-morrow that causes us to wince at the thought of annihilation? A subconscious resentment against the idea of entering darkness while our neighbour will proceed with his petty affairs as usual? "It's nip and tuck," said the doctor; "but we'll pull him through.
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