[The Merry Men by Robert Louis Stevenson]@TWC D-Link book
The Merry Men

CHAPTER III
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Do you not fear she may be unwell ?' He stared at me a little, and then said, 'No,' almost defiantly; and the next moment, carrying his hand to his brow, cried out lamentably on the wind and the noise that made his head go round like a millwheel.

'Who can be well ?' he cried; and, indeed, I could only echo his question, for I was disturbed enough myself.
I went to bed early, wearied with day-long restlessness, but the poisonous nature of the wind, and its ungodly and unintermittent uproar, would not suffer me to sleep.

I lay there and tossed, my nerves and senses on the stretch.

At times I would doze, dream horribly, and wake again; and these snatches of oblivion confused me as to time.

But it must have been late on in the night, when I was suddenly startled by an outbreak of pitiable and hateful cries.


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