And now for the fawney— the ring I mean. When he came to a certain sentence in Brendon’s letter he stopped short and looked up at her. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. Gosse twisted his body to avoid another thrust, and the heavy candlesticks fell, rolling with a noise like thunder, and falling with a thud to the floor.
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