Mona, not attempting to reason with her again, shakes her head despondingly, and leaves the cabin with Geoffrey at her side.,
She is sitting before a spinning-wheel, and is deftly drawing the wool through her fingers; brown little fingers they are, but none the less dear in his sight.,
"Shot himself! How?" she says, hoarsely, her bosom rising and falling tumultuously. "Jenkins, answer me.".
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