You have grown into my life, and I cannot tear you out. ‘How do you like England?’ ‘People have been very kind,’ Valade said, answering for them both. Something about the girl had suggested an idea. “I can’t endure it,” she said. A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ1LjYyLjI0MCAtIDEwLTA2LTIwMjQgMTM6Mzk6MDggLSAxMjM1OTI2MDEx
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