” He said. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. “Odd!” she said. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. ” “What?” He asked. " The stranger was for a moment lost in reflection. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep.
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