Geoffrey, springing down from the dog-cart that has been sent to the station to meet him, brushes the frost from his hair, and stamps his feet upon the stone steps.,
"Yes, yes; that poor, poor woman! I cannot get her face out of my head. How forlorn! how hopeless! She has lost all she cared for; there is nothing to fall back upon. She loved him; and to have him so cruelly murdered for no crime, and to know that he will never again come in the door, or sit by her hearth, or light his pipe by her fire,—oh, it is horrible! It is enough to kill her!" says Mona, somewhat disconnectedly.,
"Heaven," repeats he, with a sigh. "I have forgotten to think of heaven.".
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