"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.,
"An aim!" he says, bitterly. "I think I have found an end to my life where most fellows find a beginning.",
"Mona, it is not—it cannot be—but is it?" asks he incoherently..
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