"She is. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. "No; it's only a fresh gale," Ben returned: "hark! now it comes. ‘Can’t see a thing. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. "Because—because I'm always distrustful of a priest," rejoined Jonathan.
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