" "Very well. when I was five. White rang the bell. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. " "I have often conjured up some frightful vision of the dead," murmured the knight, "but I never dreamed of an interview with the living. ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. ‘Can’t see a thing. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls.
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