So I ran away, blindly, knowing nothing of the world outside. They were silent and no longer observant, being more or less exhausted by the tedious action of the chairs. That was the true marvel of it. The Night-Cellar XVIII. One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. Hurrying on, his progress was soon checked by a strong door, several inches in thickness, and nearly as wide as the passage. I drew out what I had saved and boarded the first ship out. At the bottom of the trunk I found two of my mother's dresses. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam.
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