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In all that broad landscape there was no gleam of hope. North and east
and west he looked with wild, questioning eyes, and then he realised
that his wanderings had come to an end, and that there, on that barren
crag, he was about to die. 'Why not here as well as in a feather bed,
twenty years hence?' he muttered, as he seated himself in the shelter of
a boulder.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
A Study in Scarlet |
