But that possibility had been anticipated. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. He was still thickly clad in jeans. She tried not to pant, not to reveal herself, and she began to shake. It seemed an emblem of the ruin he had caused. She did her best to do this. She raised this with the air of a conspirator unmasking, and displayed a tear-flushed face. Presently he heard her voice.
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