Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. Unless he can arise from the bottom of the Thames, where he and his abhorred father lie buried, you will never behold him again in this world. You will only make me hurt you the more. Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter.
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