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She pointed out her sacrifices and their results one day to the constant apothecary, Mr.
Clump. "I am sure, my dear Mr.
Clump," she said, "no efforts of mine have been wanting to restore our dear invalid, whom the ingratitude of her nephew has laid on the bed of sickness.
I never shrink from personal discomfort: I never refuse to sacrifice myself." "Your devotion, it must be confessed, is admirable," Mr.
Clump says, with a low bow; "but--" "I have scarcely closed my eyes since my arrival: I give up sleep, health, every comfort, to my sense of duty.
When my poor James was in the smallpox, did I allow any hireling to nurse him? No." "You did what became an excellent mother, my dear Madam--the best of mothers; but--~' "As the mother of a family and the wife of an English clergyman, I humbly trust that my principles are good," Mrs.
Bute said, with a happy solemnity of conviction; "and, as long as Nature supports me, never, never, Mr.
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