Another hour passed. I was not the least worried about myself, however, since my dear Emerson was at my side. ve been spared; also some that were added, for thatmatter; but detailed literary criticism is not the province of this work. On the morning of the 24th of March, 1847, it was evident that he couldnot live many hours.
A querulous wail from the youngest member of the group brought me back to practicality. He resumed his chair and beckoned a waiter. His onlycomplaint of Stoddard was that he did not laugh enough at his humorousyarns. Returning he was drenched by a storm of rain and sleet,arriving at last half frozen.
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