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The room behind was another small antechamber, presumably linking the back rooms. In all his life he had never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurt him. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. Fatigued by his previous exertions, and incumbered by his fetters, he was by no means—though ordinarily remarkably swift of foot—a match for his foes, who were fast gaining upon him. She would never again be lonely. Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and began to practise on it in the night.
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