"Forgive—forgive me!" "I have nothing to forgive," replied Mrs. “They died within a few months of one another. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it.
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