Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. “I was glad you did not send it back again,” he said. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. However, confession of a fault makes half amends for it. You can trust me, Anna. If only you knew what this means to me!" "We do, lad," replied McClintock, gravely.
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