I name not him for posterity's sake, whom Henry VIII. At the very instant of death the bonds of the flesh are broken asunder and the soul at once flies towards God as towards the centre of her existence. He brought forth a great stone jar of whisky from the locker and filled the decanter slowly, bending now and then to see how much he had poured in. He tried to think what a big thought that must be; but he could only think of God.
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