Well, my eyes WERE sealed, it appeared, at present-- a consummation for which it seemed blasphemous not to thank God. --And were you happier then? Cranly asked softly, happier than you are now, for instance? --Often happy, Stephen said, and often unhappy. Imagine some foul and putrid corpse that has lain rotting and decomposing in the grave, a jelly-like mass of liquid corruption. "He" of course was their uncle in Harley Street; and we lived in much profusion of theory that he might at any moment arrive to mingle in our circle.
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