hopelessly, and it made me desperate. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. She wasn’t sure of herself when she said it. 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.
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