“Is this hansom for me?” she said. Perhaps there were experiences she would never confide to any man. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. “Life is upsetting enough, without the novels taking a share,” said Mr.
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