"I do not understand," she says, very proudly, throwing up her head with a charming gesture. "And, talking of forgetfulness, do you know what hour it is?",
"I am a stranger; I know nothing," she says again, hardly knowing what to say, and moving a little as though she would depart.,
Must she go back for a candle? Must she pass again all those belted knights upon the staircase and in the upper gallery? No! rather will she brave the darkness of the more congenial library, and—but soft—what is that? Surely a tiny gleam of light is creeping to her feet from beneath the door of the room towards which she wends her way..
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