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The intensity of the eyes and the defiant tone bewildered the doctor, who found his well-constructed jeremiad without a platform. Then for the first time she was conscious of an unaccountable and terrifying sensation. In passing, why do we fear death? For our sins? Rather, isn't it the tremendous inherent human curiosity to know what is going to happen to-morrow that causes us to wince at the thought of annihilation? A subconscious resentment against the idea of entering darkness while our neighbour will proceed with his petty affairs as usual? "It's nip and tuck," said the doctor; "but we'll pull him through. She looked in the rear-view mirror. I—I am a lovesick idiot, and not accountable for my actions. "Dying, Sir Rowland.
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