" "Impossible, Sir," replied Ireton, greatly alarmed. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. Already the warm sun was drawing from the pines their delicious odour. “I’m sorry. It is the immediate inspiration of confidence; it alleviates pain, because we know by that smile that pain is soon to leave us; it becomes the bulwark against our depressive thoughts of death; and it is the promise that we still have a long way to go before we reach the Great Terminal. .
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