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To make personal remarks, we all know, is essentially vulgar, is indeed a breach of the commonest show of good breeding; yet somehow Mrs. Geoffrey's tone does not touch on vulgarity, does not even belong to the outermost skirts of ill-breeding. She has an inborn gentleness of her own, that carries her safely over all social difficulties. But travelling over the prairie was a wolf that climbed up on the butte and came to the hole and, looking in, saw the man and pitied him. "I know why you said that about Ryan, and I thank you for it. I should not like to think it was your word had transported him.".
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Conrad
"Indeed she will not;" says Mona indignantly. "Irish peasants very seldom do that. She will, I am sure, be faithful forever to the memory of the man she loved." "Oh—well—don't," interrupts Mrs. Geoffrey, hastily. This is fortunate. Every one feels that Nicholas is not only clever, but singularly lucky. Tired at length, and feeling somewhat chilled, Mona rouses herself from her reverie, and, followed by her two faithful guardians, moves towards the staircase. Passing the armored men that stand in niches along the walls, a little sensation of fear, a certain belief in the uncanny, runs through her. She looks in a terrified fashion over her left shoulder, and shudders perceptibly. Do dark fiery eyes look upon her in very truth from those ghastly visors?—surely a clank of supernatural armor smote upon her ear just then!.
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