He handles the gun again menacingly. Mona, though still apparently calm, whitens perceptibly beneath the cold penetrating rays of the "pale-faced moon" that up above in "heaven's ebon vault, studded with stars unutterably bright," looks down upon her perhaps with love and pity.,
Mona, rising, pushes Violet gently into her own chair, a little black-and-gold wicker thing, gaudily cushioned.,
It is a very curious and obsolete, if singularly charming, performance, full of strange bows, and unexpected turnings, and curtseys dignified and deep..
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