” He threw the stone protecting the crypt to one side. From this perturbed state he was roused by thoughts of his mother, and fancying he heard her gentle voice urging him on to fresh exertion, he started up. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. “Certainly her voice is far more musical. ‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. It fell to the ground and smoked ominously.
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