" "What?" he barked. He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom. “You shall,” she said. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. But, in spite of his general insensibility to such matters, Quilt could not help commenting upon the delicious perfume wafted from the numerous flower-beds past which they were driving. "A miserly old woman.
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