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"Or like the 'sweet little cherub that sits up aloft.' There is something cherubic about you, do you know Nolly, when one comes to think of it. But finish your tale." "'Bonnie Lesley:' the poet says of her what I think of you." "Wait, Mrs. Rodney. Let me help you across.".
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"What has he done?" asks Geoffrey, somewhat bewildered and greatly distressed at her apparent grief. On the right side of the fireplace, lying along the wall, is a rude stretcher,—or what appears to be such,—on which, shrouded decently in a white cloth, lies something that chills with mortal fear the heart, as it reminds it of that to which we all some day must come. Beneath the shroud the murdered man lies calmly sleeping, his face smitten into the marble smile of death. Still she hesitates, and he is not slow to notice the eloquent pause. "So glad you have come," says Lady Rodney, in a tone that belies her words, and in a sweet silvery voice that chills the heart of her listener. "We hardly thought we should see you so soon, the trains here are so unpunctual. I hope the carriage was in time?".
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