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pork and cold potatoes and pickles to darken the soul, and with these
aids his soul was black indeed.
"May as well have a bit of a walk," said Mr. Polly at last, after
nearly intolerable meditations, and sat round and put a leg over the
stile.
He remained still for some time before he brought over the other leg.
"
Kill myself," he murmured at last.
It was an idea that came back to his mind nowadays with a continually
increasing attractiveness--more particularly after meals. Life he felt
had no further happiness to offer him. He hated Miriam, and there was
no getting away from her whatever might betide. And for the rest there
was toil and struggle, toil and struggle with a failing heart and
dwindling courage, to sustain that dreary duologue. "Life's insured,"
said Mr. Polly; "place is insured. I don't see it does any harm to her
or anyone."
He stuck his hands in his pockets. "Needn't hurt much," he said. He
began to elaborate a plan.
He found it quite interesting elaborating his plan. His countenance
became less miserable and his pace quickened.
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