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SUPERSTITION “No—are you really?” She sat for a while without answering; she was alarmed at the thought of arousing the monster's anger by refusing him. Nevertheless she finally[124] said, trembling, "No, Beast." At this the poor monster sighed, and the hideous sound he made echoed throughout the castle, but Beauty was soon reassured, for the Beast, after sadly bidding her adieu, left the room, turning his head from time to time to look at her again..

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They arose with the dawn, and continued their journey, continually terrified with the apprehension of encountering the duke's people. At noon they arrived at Azulia, from whence the monastery, or abbey of St Augustin, was distant only a few miles. Madame wrote to the Padre Abate, to whom she was somewhat related, and soon after received an answer very favourable to her wishes. The same evening they repaired to the abbey; where Julia, once more relieved from the fear of pursuit, offered up a prayer of gratitude to heaven, and endeavoured to calm her sorrows by devotion. She was received by the abbot with a sort of paternal affection, and by the nuns with officious kindness. Comforted by these circumstances, and by the tranquil appearance of every thing around her, she retired to rest, and passed the night in peaceful slumbers. “Our most popular author of books for little girls has this year forsaken them, and apparently gone over to the boys, since her book is about a boy; ... but I have yet to see the little girl who would not be glad to read of such a boy as Johnny Blossom.... Although a genuine boy, he is a right-minded little fellow with earnest childlike spirit; and he can never be thoroughly content until he has had his mother’s full forgiveness when he has been naughty, or, if he has wronged any one, until he has made restitution.” From the farther end of the hall came the query: “Is he here? Is Johnny Blossom here?” He was just sick and tired of seeing those apples in that good-for-nothing garden. Good-for-nothing it certainly was, and very, very old. There was only one apple tree besides the one Johnny was so interested in, but its fruit could scarcely be called apples at all. He would call them croquet balls—such hard green things as they were—hard as rocks. Of course if any of them were on the ground, he bit into them. In fact, he had eaten a good many of them first and last, but they were horrid things, anyway..