"I should think so," responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn. It is dull—deadly dull. . The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. Clearing the few impediments in his way, he soon reached the condemned pew, where it had once been his fate to sit; and extending himself on the seat endeavoured to snatch a moment's repose. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall.
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