She bolted upright as she heard footsteps rumble towards the door, cursing UPS for being so damn persistent in such foul weather. She took her hat from the peg in the corner and began to put it on. “What’s going on with you?” John asked inquisitively, looking down at her abdomen. ” She looked at him wistfully, but with some unwilling doubt in her wrinkled forehead. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep.
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