"He's covered, safe enough. They've throwed an ould sheet over him,—over what remains of him this cruel day. Och, wirra-wirra!" cries the woman, suddenly, throwing her hands high above her head, and giving way to a peculiar long, low, moaning sound, so eerie, so full of wild despair and grief past all consolation, as to make the blood in Rodney's veins run cold.,
And now what remains to be told? But little, I think! For my gentle Mona has reached that haven where she would be!,
"Not even to me?" with a sardonic laugh..
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