“Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. “I opened my eyes, and she was bending over my bedside. But I have never seen America. “Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances. The ceiling had, in many places, given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster remained, it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned with dusty cobwebs. Tomorrow you will feel like a freed woman.
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