Ennison looked down on him in disgust. His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears. So he made his dispositions and went off on some other fool’s errand. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground.
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