Marina doted over her pregnant daughter, adorned in fine brocades, reassuring her that it was certain to be a either a baby boy or a girl of such great beauty she would eclipse them both. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. “You too sing?” he asked. Even that he sleeps, I must give to him my thanks, for he has been excessively brave for me. See? Nothing really. Brendon went for the doctor,” Anna answered.
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