There was no one at home, and I was coming away when I saw that the door was open. Capes and her father stood up, and her father made a belated movement toward the curtain. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. "I did see them on the platform of the bridge—the child and his preserver! They were not struck by the fallen ruin, nor whelmed in the roaring flood,—or, if they were, they escaped as I escaped. And this is not France, you understand. The land about these walls is a common graveyard.
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