Mr. Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair. “There wasn’t. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. The fever came. "And had you been the worst scoundrel unhung, I'd have seen to it that you had the same care, the same chance. "Well?" he said, as Spurlock reached his side. " Pain was stabbing him, now here, now there; pain was real enough; but he could not establish as a fact in his throbbing brain the presence of his aunt in the doorway. What of it?” There was a shout of laughter.
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