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ANOTHER GAMBLER.
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Sad indeed they were, for even the conversation about our childhood, which usually had the privilege of distracting his mind in its darkest moments, did not succeed in chasing away the clouds these memories had gathered on his brow. I myself—for superstition is contagious—am not quite convinced that his remorse was morbid, and that he was not, in some slight degree, the cause of his cousin's disaster.
