He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. "I'm your dupe no longer. " Blueskin nodded, and left the room. The man looked as though he would have liked to deny it, but could not. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. "And there you're right, you may dipind, marm," observed Terence.
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