He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. “Oh, I can’t thank you. A week later the manuscript was polished and typewritten, ready for the test. “Well?” “I don’t care a rap for all these things. I pledged my thumb that, dead or alive, I'd pay the wager if I lost; and I should like to be as good as my word.
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