CHAPTER XV. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. And, when I have seen him pining away before my eyes, getting thinner and thinner every day, I have sometimes thought my prayers were heard. The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust. You must be lonely here with only a few men friends.
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