Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. All the sombre visions she had been pressing back, fighting out of her thoughts, swarmed over the barrier and crushed her. " "How had he offended you?" inquired the widow. She moaned, having failed in her mission to find her mother and her God. She paused for a moment. You don’t know what you’re saying, and I hope you never will.
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