So peace is restored, and presently, forsaking the pats of butter and the dairy, they wander forth into the open air, to catch the last mild breezes that belong to the dying day.
color-trading-game, "Take me down," says Mona, wearily, turning to her lover, as the last faint ring of the horse's feet dies out on the breeze.
◆ Messages, Voice
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color-trading-game "I wish you would not talk of being buried," says Mona, with a sob. "There is no comfort in the tomb: there our dust may mingle, but in heaven our souls shall meet, I trust,—I hope.".
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