‘I know, Melusine. "Oh!—to see you thus!" cried Thames, in an agony of affliction. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. It’s—Mrs. Out of an old family album: here was the very comparison that had eluded him.
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