" "My God!" cried Trenchard, stunned by the intelligence, "I have killed her. And in its way it was very well. And you don’t know what led to our separation. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. ” He came and stood on the hearthrug close to her. But two weeks later he returned. And, for a man who'll never see sixty again, he's in excellent preservation, I assure you.
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