And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. Even in the daylight, it had a sombre and suspicious air, and seemed to slink back from the adjoining houses, as if afraid of their society. And so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits—it would melt a heart of stone to see her. Nothing else matters. CHAPTER XIII. ’ But I made sure it was you.
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