"Now tell me something else," she says, after a little bit. "Do all the women you know dress a great deal?",
"Poor soul! poor soul!" says Mona, brokenly; then she drops her hand, and the woman, turning again to the lifeless body, as though in the poor cold clay lies her only solace, lets her head fall forward upon it.,
"Oh, one at a time," says Nolly. "She couldn't do it all at once. Such a stretch of fancy requires thought.".
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