Wakefield

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  “In some old magazine or newspaper I recollect a story, told as truth, of a man—let us call him Wakefield—who absented himself for a long time from his wife. The fact, thus abstractedly stated, is not very uncommon, nor, without a proper distinction of circumstances, to be condemned either as naughty or nonsensical. Howbeit, this, though far from the most aggravated, is perhaps the strangest instance on record of marital delinquency, and, moreover, as remarkable a freak as may be found in the whole list of human oddities. The wedded couple lived in London. The man, under pretense of going a journey, took lodgings in the next street to his own house, and there, unheard of by his wife or friends and without the shadow of a reason for such self-banishment, dwelt upward of twenty years. During that period he beheld his home every day, and frequently the forlorn Mrs. Wakefield. And after so great a gap in his matrimonial felicity—when his death was reckoned certain, his estate settled...

all i can say

Lord I'm tired,
So tired from walking;
And Lord I'm so alone.
And Lord the dark
Is creeping in
Creeping up to swallow me.
I think I'll stop,
Rest here a while.

And this is all that I can say right now;
And this is all that I can give.

And didn't You see me cry'n?
And didn't You hear me call Your name?
Wasn't it You I gave my heart to?
I wish You'd remember
Where you sat it down.

And this is all that I can say right now;
And this is all that I can give.

I didn't notice You were standing here.
I didn't know that that was You holding me.
I didn't notice You were cry'n too.
I didn't know that that was You washing my feet.

[David Crowder Band]

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