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That wandering shrine of soft yet icy flame,,"Fancy a turkey ghost," says Mona. "How ugly it would be. It would have all its feathers off, of course.","'Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,,"Away from me," returns he, with some emotion, tightening his clasp around her.,"Always—indeed, always!" says Mona, with tears in her eyes; after which, with a last miserable glance, he strides away, and is lost to sight among the trees.,"They didn't get on for long," he says, mournfully,—and what voice is so full of melancholy as the Irish voice when it sinks into sadness? "When the little one—Mona—was barely five years old, they went to ground; Mount Jerome got them. Fever it was; and it carried 'em both off just while ye'd have time to look round ye. Poor souls, they went to the blessed land together. Perhaps the Holy Virgin knew they would have got on badly without each other anywhere.","It was," says Nicholas, feeling a reply can no longer be shirked. Then he says, "Ahem!" and turns his glance confidingly upon the carpet.,"I shall do only what you wish," returns he, chivalrously, arranging the cushion that adorns the back of her chair.,"By all means study them, if you are really bent on this tiresome journey. It may do you good. You will at least be more ready to take my advice another time.","I wish you could!" says Geoffrey from his heart.,"It is true," puts in Mona. "How could he tell when the coast was clear for his escape, unless he took a little peep?","What a day we're avin'," says Mr. Darling, disdaining to notice this puerile remark. "It's been pouring since early dawn. I feel right down cheap,—very nearly as depressed as when last night Nicholas stuck me down to dance with the Æsthetic.".