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"Donal Grant, by George MacDonald"

He lay with closed eyes, a strange expression of pain
mingled with something like fear every now and then passing over his
face. I doubt if his conscience troubled him. It is in general
those, I think, who through comparatively small sins have come to
see the true nature of them, whose consciences trouble them greatly.
Those who have gone from bad to worse through many years of moral
decay, are seldom troubled as other men, or have any bands in their
death. His lordship, it is true, suffered terribly at times because
of the things he had done; but it was through the medium of a roused
imagination rather than a roused conscience: the former deals with
consequences; the latter with the deeds themselves.
He declared he would see no doctor but his old attendant Dowster,
yet all the time was longing for the young man to appear: he
might--who could tell?--save him from the dreaded jaws of death!
He came. Donal went to him. He had summoned him, he said, without
his lordship's consent, but believed he would see him; the earl had
been long in the habit of using narcotics and stimulants, though not
alcohol, he thought; he trusted Mr. Avory would give his sanction to
the entire disuse of them, for they were killing him, body and soul.
"To give them up at once and entirely would cost him considerable
suffering," said the doctor.
"He knows that, and does not in the least desire to give them up.


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