Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. Maggot. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. ‘Do not beg my pardon.
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