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She was taken dreadfully ill on the road, with spasms and short breath, and swoonings,—worse than ever she was before. O'Higgins mounted the stairs, his step extraordinarily light for one so heavy. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. “Before this there was a sort of restraint—a make-believe. He wouldn’t like it if people did it to him. I want to hear how she does it.
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