‘I am far from imagining anything of the kind. There was a confused impression of livery carriages and whips with white favors, people fussily wanting other people to get in before them, and then the church. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. He refused his food,—and even when better provisions were offered him, rejected them. To be no longer with Martha was strange. I believe you’ve crushed a gland or something. . CHAPTER XI.
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