You see, aunt, it’s the only possible way for me to get a good degree in my subjects, and father won’t hear of it. Am I going to die?” “I am afraid that you are in a dangerous state,” Courtlaw answered gravely. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. “Never mind, old chap,” he declared.
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