" "I mean to say, Sir," answered Mrs. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. Afterward, one afternoon, he hovered about her, and came and sat beside her and talked of beauty and the riddle of beauty for some time. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill.
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