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The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself. Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror. “Never—but, by Jove, you had a narrow escape,” Ennison exclaimed. I found him lying like this, the bleeding partly stopped by this scarf, else he had been dead by now. It’s an instinct. gutenberg.
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