‘What are you going to do now, child?’ Melusine sighed away the last of her distress. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. He returned to attend the funeral. “I am already so hungry that I shall begin on the petit pains. Prudence shook her head.
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