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Behind the house rises a thick wood,—a "solemn wood," such as Dickens loved to write of, with its lights and shades and every-varying tints. A gentle wind is rushing through it now; the faint murmur of some "hidden brook," singing its "quiet tune," fall upon the ear; some happy birds are warbling in the thickets. It is a day whose beauty may be felt. "But why?" says Mona. CHAPTER XXXIII..
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The ready tears spring into Mona's eyes. She is more deeply, passionately grateful to him for this small speech than he will ever know. Her eyes are large and blue, with a shade of green in them; her lips are soft and mobile; her whole expression is debonnaire, yet full of tenderness. She is brightness itself; each inward thought, be it of grief or gladness, makes itself outwardly known in the constant changes of her face. Her hair is cut above her forehead, and is quite golden, yet perhaps it is a degree darker than the ordinary hair we hear described as yellow. To me, to think of Dorothy Darling's head is always to remind myself of that line in Milton's "Comus," where he speaks of And silence swells into a dreamy sound, Her husband drank a swallow of the water, and when he took the horn it made a noise. "Ah," he said, as he looked about, "a person is somewhere close by.".
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