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139strikeconsciously, take on an attitude of her raise his numbed fingersto his brow, st square his shoulders, so that when hisrescuers come they shall perceive that he died at his post, thefine figure of a soldier?I wandered till I diedRoam on. The Light  we sought is shining still,Mr. Ramsay murmured between clenched teeth.

Further, who shall blame that heroic man, ifhaving adventured to the utmost, & used his strength,wholly to the last ounce, he falls asleep, & wakesnot much caring whether he wakes or not, but & thenperceives by the pricking of his toes that he is alive; &does not on the whole object, but requires sympathy &attention, a glass of hot whisky & some one to tell him thestory of his sufferings at once?toWho shall blamehuman nature? Who shall require of men that theyinasbe gods in strength & endurance? Who shall will notsecretly rejoice at the when the hero puts off his armour &all his ardour[?with] about him,descends?And halting by the window, gazing now withascertaining with that there they are -] wife & child - theholiest heart of life - (& her divine worn beautyonlipsalmost with the boy in her knee, her chin resting,very lightly on his head, her arm encircling him, &such an expression of tenderness on herthat she looked like the profound spirit brooding over the waters of life,does homage to the restoring peace to perplexity &simplicity to the worn heart of man,does homagetotheheart of the worldV.James hated him.