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Book, page 11 / 182 With tears in her eyes she laid hold of Alfred's thin hand and tried to speak, choked by tears. 'Dear Alfred, don't say such dreadful things. You know we are all so sorry for you; but God sent it.' Alfred gave a groan of utter distress, as if it were no consolation. 'And--and things come to do us good,' continued Miss Jane, the tears starting to her cheeks. 'I don't know what good it can do me to lie here!' cried Alfred. 'Oh, but, Alfred, it must.' 'I tell you,' exclaimed the poor boy, forgetting his manners, so that Ellen stood dismayed, 'it does not do me good! I didn't use to hate Harold, nor to hate everybody.' 'To hate Harold!' said Jane faintly. 'Ay,' said Alfred, 'when I hear him whooping about like mad, and jumping and leaping, and going on like I used to do, and never shall again.' The tears came thick and fast, and perhaps they did him good. 'But, Alfred,' said Jane, trying to puzzle into the right thing, 'sometimes things are sent to punish us, and then we ought to submit quietly.' 'I don't know what I've done, then,' he cried angrily. 'There have been many worse than I any day, that are well enough now.' 'Oh, Alfred, it is not who is worse, but what one is oneself,' said Jane. Alfred grunted. 'I wish I knew how to help you,' she said earnestly; 'it is so very sad and hard; and I dare say I should be just as bad myself if I were
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