"Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause. —'How so?' says I. I am too weak to aid you. Now there is none. Miss Moffatt, the history and moral instruction mistress, was particularly explicit upon this score, and they all agreed in indicating contempt and pity for girls whose minds ran on such matters, and who betrayed it in their conversation or dress or bearing. Brendon and I returned from the ‘Unusual,’ and found him lying in my room shot through the lungs.
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