Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. The devil is on top, not below. “I think, perhaps if you will excuse me, that we will defer the luncheon. If you were ten years younger, you'd have me wondering.
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